


You're Tired Now, Lie Down (I'll Be Waiting)

by NumberEight



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberEight/pseuds/NumberEight
Summary: You're tired now, lie downI'll be waitin' to give you the good newsIt might take patienceAnd if you don't wake upI'll know you tried to“What… What happened?” He managed to choke out. It was so much worse than anything he could have even imagined. Someone with this wound, dragon or not, should be dead by now.“Please help him,” Right almost begged him and ignored his question, “nothing… Nothing we have tried worked. Shamans, monks, druids, paladins and priests, and nothing has worked.”
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 32
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Warcraft fic after playing it for like nearly a decade now. This basically spawned in a discord server from me complaining about a few aspects of fandom Wranduin and someone had the AUDACITY to tell me to write it myself. So here we are.
> 
> Wanna say a massive thanks to Jay, Cery and Jel for inspiring this piece by shouting at me to write and keeping me invested in it. Another huge thanks to Rach who wrote literal ESSAYS on my chapters when I was finished with them, pointing out what she liked and I just. Yeah. That REALLY kept me going throughout this. Thank you, Jared Chat.
> 
> This work is finished, I'll upload every few days. It's about 26k all together, and probably will be part of a series, but the next part may take some time because I will really need to plan it out very carefully. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I've made a twitter account! Not totally 100% what I'm doing, but feel free to drop a follow if you want some updates on how the next installment is going! You can find me at @numbereight_ao3

Anduin heaved a sigh as he set himself down at his desk. As the new King, he had been moved into what was his father’s chambers, much larger than the ones he had as a Prince. It was strange to live in here now, he remembered these rooms from childhood, playing in them when his father had rare time off, or was just simply sitting at the same desk Anduin was at now. He had good memories here, but being moved into them made the loss of his father glaringly evident. 

He shook the thoughts of the late King off, focusing his attention instead to the latest reports of the Alliance champions and Shaw’s agents. He studiously ignored the glowing shard the master spy had given him earlier, something taken from Azeroth’s wound in Silithus. 

Exhaustion suddenly hit him, it had been a long day trying to clean up the messes left by the Legion, filled with meetings of his councils and listening to petitions from the citizens. Anduin put down the report in his hand, eyes straying back to the small shard. There was something almost… Hypnotic about it, something that called out to him. Before he realised, his hand was already halfway across the table, when he was snapped out of the strange fixation by a sudden cold draft in his room. 

He looked up to see the lace curtains in front of the balcony gently swaying into the room, and one of the doors cracked open ever so slightly. Anduin frowned, he knows he made sure those doors were locked before he took his armour off. A quick glance around his room gave nothing away, but now he was aware someone was here, he could feel eyes on himself. 

Shalamayne was lying near the bed with the rest of his armour, too far away to use to defend himself. Instead, Anduin grabbed the small letter opener on his desk and slowly stood up, before moving to the balcony doors. The slight scuff of a boot sole on the stone floor behind him was the only warning he got before someone grabbed him from behind. 

Before he could shout or make any noise, a hand clamped over his nose and mouth, the other arm tight across his chest. He tried to thrash against the hold, but they held firm. Another pair of hands came out of nowhere, to grab his wrist that held the letter opener and prize it out of his grip. He heard it clatter on the ground near them. The second figure bent down to pick it up and it was then that he recognised the human figure. 

Right placed the small dagger back on his desk, and Anduin surmised it was Left holding him. He relaxed in her grip, as much as he held no trust in Wrathion, he doubted they were here to kill him. Not to mention the fact that if they had indeed been sent to kill him, he would most likely already be dead before he even noticed the balcony doors open.

“We apologise for getting your attention like this,” Right began in a low voice, as to not capture the attention of the guards outside the room, “but we don’t have a choice at this point.” 

Anduin furrowed his eyebrows at that. What on earth did that mean? 

“I’ll let you go, just… Don’t make a noise. Please hear us out.” He nodded against Left’s hand and she let him go, and moved to Right’s side. Anduin looked at them, he hadn’t seen them since Wrathion up and disappeared. They both looked tired, dark circles under their eyes and a similar crease between their brows. In his memory, Left and Right were both stoic people, they didn’t share or show open emotion. Whatever wrong was serious and it made him concerned.

“What is it?” Anduin asked, when the silence was drawn out for too long.

“We’re sorry to ask this of you, Anduin,” Left’s gruff voice seemed softer than he recalled, “but we need help with… An injury of one of our own.”

Anduin folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at them. If Left and Right were here, then there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that they were here under Wrathion’s orders; they were his personal bodyguards, after all. How desperate the dragon must be to ask such a thing off him now. 

“Why would I ever help him after what he did?” He immediately felt bad saying it, the agent that was injured wasn’t involved in what happened, but he didn’t want Wrathion to think Anduin could just be summoned to do favours like this. Left growled at him and made to step forward, but Right moved her arm across Left’s chest to stop her. They looked at each other, a silent conversation rapidly happened between them before the orc stood down and looked away from both of them. Right stepped forward slightly, her expression pleading.

“We have tried every route before you,” she said, “we didn’t want to ask such a thing of you, but every decision we have made… Nothing has worked. Please, Anduin, we have exhausted every possibility and this… Wound remains.”

The King of Stormwind sighed, his shoulders dropped and his hands flopped by his sides. All the teaching of the Light he had received pointed to at least trying to help, despite who was asking. He nodded slowly.

“Okay… Okay, fine. I’ll come with you and see what I can do.” 

He was already dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, but he grabbed a dark cape from his wardrobe and pulled the hood to carefully conceal his face. They left through the balcony doors, the way that the agents came in. Right silently closed and locked the door, leaving no trace of anyone ever being there. 

The trio made their way through Stormwind, sticking to the shadows and darker alleys. For two people smuggling the King out of his own city, it was worryingly easy. The nightly patrols of guards walked past their hiding spots multiple times, and Anduin almost laughed when he thought what Shaw’s reaction to this would be. It was as amusing as it was concerning; his SI:7 agents clearly needed to learn a thing or two from Wrathion’s own Blacktalon agents. 

They went right out of Stormwind’s gates, sticking close to the mountains and away from any paths and camps. Left stopped them just before Mirror Lake, where a small figure waited for them dressed in dark robes. The figure took her hood off at their arrival, revealing a Blood Elf whose eyes glowed golden in the darkness. She greeted them silently, just a simple nod exchanged between them and she turned to begin casting. Anduin belatedly realised she was a mage, a portal was of course the simplest way of getting to their destination. Right took a small pouch filled with gold off her belt and tossed it to the elf who caught it with ease. 

“I wish you the best,” the elf said simply, before teleporting herself away. Right reached out to hold Anduin’s wrist, and gently pulled him towards the portal. He felt almost like a child, his mother holding him so he wouldn’t get lost. Left stepped through the portal first, with Anduin and Right following behind. He stopped to breathe through the unique and strange disorientation that came with using portals and was shocked to see the Tavern in the Mists. 

He had mixed memories from this place. It was a sanctuary, kept him safe while he recovered from his injuries, and it was also the place he became acquainted with Wrathion. They had fun here, playing many games of Jihui and conversations that ran long into the night. The two had been friends here. Anduin had even thought for a while they had the potential to be more, had believed the dragon had felt the same. But he was clearly wrong. Wrathion betrayed him, didn’t even blink an eye at what he did and caused the death of his father. Anduin truly wondered if he could ever forgive Wrathion for what he had done. 

“Come.” Left brought him back to his senses, and he mentally shook off any thoughts to do with the whelp. A part of Anduin hoped he would be here so he could punch that permanent smug look off his face. As they walked to the entrance, he noticed strange spots where the air just seemed darker, like standing shadows. As he squinted, he could vaguely make out the shapes of people, stealthed agents standing around the inn, ready for any form of danger. Not for the first time, he wondered just who exactly was wounded and why Wrathion would put so much effort into keeping them this safe.

When they entered the inn, Anduin was surprised to see how many more Blacktalon agents sat inside. They didn’t seem to be on active duty, many sitting around at the tables and quietly talking amongst themselves. The building seemed full with the agents, many leaning against walls and sitting on the floor. He started to get a bad feeling about who exactly was injured. 

Through the door at the back, Anduin could see what looked like a makeshift healers tent. From the angle he was at, he could see multiple bedrolls with agents sitting or lying down. All of those inside were out of their black leathers and in civilian-looking clothing, bandages peeking out here and there. With the amount of agents in there, he wondered what Blacktalon had been doing during the Legion invasion. Seeing them, he felt slightly bad in believing that they had been doing nothing.

“Anduin!” A familiar voice shouted across the tavern, and he looked over to see Tong making his way across the floor to them. The Pandaren greeted him with a large smile and a clap on the shoulder. 

“Tong,” Anduin smiled, “it’s good to see you.”

“It is good to see you, too. It’s been too long.” Tong stepped back slightly, his smile turning sad, “I am sorry to hear about your father. I am sure he would be proud of you.”

“Ah…” he swallowed thickly, not wanting emotion to overcome him, “thank you. Being King is… Strange.” 

“Just don’t forget you are not alone. My tavern is always open to you, should you ever need a good drink.” Anduin smiled at him gratefully. 

“Thank you, Tong.” 

“Has there been any news from upstairs?” Left interjected from the side of him.

“Ah, I’m afraid not. Would you like me to prepare some food for them?” 

“That would be great, thank you, Tong.” Right bowed her head at him slightly, before leading Anduin to the stairs. He felt multiple pairs of eyes burning into his back, the agents staring at him intensely. The bad feeling about the wounded agent returned. Who could possibly insight such a reaction from the rest of Blacktalon? 

There were only a few rooms upstairs, but it was immediately clear which room kept the injured agent. Two heavily armoured warriors stood outside the door. One was a tall Orc, with a shield almost as big as her own body. One side of her face was heavily scarred, and looked as if something with claws had swiped at her and blinded her in that eye. The other was a Night Elf, only distinguishable by the long ears that poked out from a helmet that completely covered his features. Neither of them looked at him, didn’t even move a muscle at his presence and instead kept their eyes fixed straight ahead. 

Left moved ahead of them and opened the door, and Right followed her in stepping through. Anduin stood awkwardly in the doorway, taking in the state of the room. It was in chaos with bloody bandages thrown into a rough pile into one corner, with bloody sheets and clothes tossed in with them. On the table near the bed were multiple pitchers and bowls of water, and he could see some were murky with blood, with red-stained clothes thrown over the side of them. He looks to the bed, the bad feeling getting worse. From where Anduin was stood, the face and features of whoever was in the bed were completely obscured by the bedside dresser. He didn’t want to move forward.

Right had moved to a Nightborne priest who was sat by the bed, her hands hovering over the body and channeling Light through them. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, with sweat dotting her forehead despite the coolness of the room. Right touched her shoulder, bringing the priest out of her spell.

“Any changes?” Left asked, but she seemed to already know the answer. The priest sat back in her chair and wiped at her forehead, a completely devastated expression written on her face.

“I’m sorry,” that’s all it took for both Left and Right to deflate simultaneously, “everything I do has no effect. The best I can do now is ensure he’s in no pain.” 

“Thank you, Milycie. Go downstairs and get some rest. You can help the other injured after you’ve had something to eat, okay?” The priest, Milycie, nodded and stood up to leave. As she passed Anduin, she gently touched his shoulder in comfort, despite not knowing him. She left and his eye caught on a piece of clothing tossed into the corner of the room. It was a horrifyingly familiar piece of black leather made to look like dragon scales, and was soaked with dried blood. 

“-in. Anduin.” He snapped out of the dread, and looked to Right who was standing by the bed. She had clearly tried to capture his attention a few times and gestured for him to get closer. His stomach sank as he fully stepped into the room, the door closing behind him. It felt like a bad omen. He prayed to the Light that he was wrong, that there was just some nameless and faceless agent he didn’t know laying on the bed. The small amount of hope was diminished when he saw Wrathion’s face. 

Anduin’s first thought was of how much he had changed. When they last saw each other, Wrathion only had small nubs that he had yet to grow into, but he now had four large horns adorned with golden bands. He noticed with dismay how the larger horn on the left had been snapped off from the middle, leaving a jagged edge. He also noted how much longer Wrathion’s hair was and how soft it looked.

His second thought was that the dragon must already be dead. His dark skin was pale and ashy and the chest concealed under the sheets wasn’t moving visibly. Seeing Wrathion like this was… Wrong. The dragon was supposed to be untouchable, leading his agents from the shadows and just not supposed to be in danger. Quite quickly, the sadness was washed over by anger. How dare Wrathion get this close to death? Especially before they met again. Well, met again properly. Anduin owed him a good punch to the face. 

Still. He couldn’t deny that he was devastated to see the dragon like this. For how close they had been, for how close they were to being something more to each other, it hurt to think about Wrathion dying now. Anduin had to immediately purge that thought from his head. He would not let Wrathion die. He wasn’t allowed to die.

A wave of calmness washed over Anduin. He would not let the panic or any other emotion take over him now, he was needed by someone to help them and that is exactly what he would do. He reached out to lower the sheets that were carefully tucked under Wrathion’s chin and saw the thick layer of bandages on his chest. 

“Can you help me sit him up so I can take these off?” He asked, and Left moved forward to gently lift the prone body into a sitting position. Anduin slowly unwrapped the bandages, noting how with each layer he uncovered, more and more blood was seeping through. Right moved forward to help him, but it still took a good few minutes for the wound to be completely uncovered. 

As soon as the blond laid eyes on the wound, he had to look away and breathe through waves of nausea. Left carefully laid Wrathion back down and Right put her hand on Anduin’s shoulder to steady him. 

“What… What happened?” He managed to choke out. It was so much worse than anything he could have even imagined. Someone with this wound, dragon or not, should be dead by now. 

“Please help him,” Right almost begged him and ignored his question, “nothing… Nothing we have tried worked. Shamans, monks, druids, paladins and priests, and nothing has worked.”

Anduin glanced back at the wound, swallowing back vomit so he could get a better look. It was a gory sight; wide and deep. He could see the white of muscle and bone, Wrathion’s mortal rib cage had been cracked open by the force of whatever had caused it. It looked like some sort of stab wound, but the blade would have had to have been a lot thicker than anything he had seen before. An odd shine of something caught his eye and Anduin leant forward slightly to see. Just inside of the wound, where red blood should have been was a unique blue and yellow and his mind went to the shard of Azerite that sat on his desk.

The blond sat back in his chair, the true reality of the situation was finally hitting him. Wrathion lay on his deathbed, with what was either a mortal stab wound, or something that was magically inflicted. He could see Left and Right looking at him out of the corner of his eye, concern and worry and hope written plain on their faces. Anduin was truly his last hope of surviving, and he was damned if he would let the dragon die. There was too much left unsaid between them. 

The King of Stormwind closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. Who could have guessed this is where he would be sitting after Wrathion disappeared. He opened his eyes and rolled up his sleeves, decisively not looking at Wrathion’s slack face.

He could not falter here. He would not falter here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos so far! I'm so happy you guys are interested in this fic! This chapter is super wordy, so I apologise if it's difficult for some people to read. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but it's undergone about four different drafts and I can't get it any better than this. 
> 
> I'd also like to quickly include a phrase out of Rach's review of the whole fic: "You have managed to do what Blizzard never could - you have made me like Anduin Wrynn". I'll take that ANY DAY.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Draenor was a miserable place, Wrathion had long since decided. He had been stuck here with Left and Right for around a year, going through the same motions day after day. He supposed he deserved this though, it was only right that he tried to fix the mess he had unintentionally created. He was so young for a dragon and yet he had probably made more mistakes and had more regrets than most of them. 

Wrathion had truly done everything until now with the belief it was for the best. Fahrad, and his kin needed to be put down before the madness completely overwhelmed them. Anduin was… Anduin was different, though. He had betrayed his only friend, the only person who willingly spoke to him, and respected him. He missed the young prince, wished things could have been different, but this was Wrathion’s burden to bear and he couldn’t put that weight on Anduin’s shoulders. On anyone else’s shoulders. 

The three had set up a small camp for the night, hidden in the mountains in Talador to the East. Left and Right had gone to hunt for food, while Wrathion soared high in the air, making sure no one was near them. In the year they had been traveling, his dragon form had rapidly grown and he was now the size of a large horse. In a way it saddened him, the Red Dragonflight had taken everything natural about him away. But it was also very useful to ferry his bodyguards to a different area, especially when traveling by foot could take weeks.

With no enemies in sight, Wrathion continued to fly. This was the only time he really got to himself in between constant planning and traveling and fighting. He stayed in the air until he noticed Left and Right walking back and so he returned to their small camp, shifting just before his bodyguards came into view. Left dragged a young Talbuk behind her and he noted with amusement how close the two were walking. 

When Wrathion had first met Left and Right, they were outcasts of their respective factions. Turned away and thrown out, neither wanting to trust anyone again. He had given them a job, somewhere they could belong and though it took a long time, they slowly opened up to him and each other. This journey on Draenor, the three had only grown closer, especially Left and Right. Though they may not have realised it, Wrathion noticed every subtle glance they threw each other, the gentle touches and small smiles. It was nice to see, especially when he remembered how they were when he first met them.

It hurt to see, too. He remembered when he would send Anduin those glances, how his heart stuttered when their hands accidentally brushed during a game of Jihui. It was all just another reminder how much Wrathion had failed and how much he had already lost. He wasn’t sure how the prince would react to seeing him again, although he was sure it would involve a lot of shouting and perhaps a thrown punch or two. It wasn’t anything he didn’t deserve, though. 

Left and Right efficiently stripped and gutted the Talbuk, piercing the meat with sharpened sticks and leaving it to cook over a fire Wrathion had conjured. He had enchanted it with a bit more magic to ensure the light and smoke wouldn’t travel too far for others to notice. 

He leant back against the rocks to his back and stared at the flames. No one spoke, but the silence between them was comfortable. Wrathion glanced at the cooking meat, couldn’t stop the twist of hunger from his stomach, but the Talbuk had only been young and didn’t yield enough for barely one of them, let alone three. 

Hunting and camping were dangerous for them, with so many enemies in such a concentrated space, not to mention how they had to dodge the Alliance and Horde. Food sources were unstable, and he couldn’t ask his other agents to bring them anything while they were already risking their lives in highly dangerous situations. Being a dragon, Wrathion could sustain himself for much longer than mortals on his magic, though it wouldn’t curb the physical need for food, he could go for longer without it. 

The dragon tilted his head up towards the sky and resigned himself to another day without food, though he knew both Left and Right would try to fight him on this. As he stared up at the unfamiliar constellations, Wrathion fought against the utter silence in his head. On Azeroth, being a black dragon with a connection to the earth, there was always a certain hum he could hear. It was never overwhelming and it comforted him more than anything. But here, on Draenor, there was nothing. The earth here didn’t call out to him, the land was completely silent and it unnerved him. 

Lost in thought, Wrathion barely registered the telltale sound of a portal opening near them. Left and Right immediately jumped up with weapons drawn, ready for a fight at any moment. A few Blacktalon agents walked through, nodding their heads in respect to him. He stood up, ready to receive their reports, though he was having trouble lately remembering who was sent where and why. 

They told him that Frostfire Ridge was becoming more stable, with the ogres being pushed out by the Frostwolf clan with the help of the Horde. Gorgrond was still a struggle for power, with the Iron Horde still maintaining control over the Blackrock Foundry. He made a note to send more agents towards there, to see if they could upset the balance of power and make an opening for others. 

The last agent told Wrathion of reports and whispers she had heard, that there was a force gathering in Tanaan Jungle aiming to storm Hellfire Citadel to stop Gul’dan. Tanaan Jungle would most likely be crawling with the Iron Horde, no doubt suspecting an attack on the Citadel. The agents stared at him expectantly, and he paused to think.

This attack on Hellfire Citadel was most likely weeks, if not months away. Would it be useful to send all his agents there now to thin out the enemy forces? Would it be better to split them, to gain more information in Tanaan while upsetting the control the Blackrock clan held in Gorgrond? Would it even be useful to attack Gorgrond if the decision was made to put everything into storming Hellfire Citadel? 

“Okay,” Wrathion looked up to the agents, who stood to attention, “I want you to spread the word that all forces who are able are to travel to Tanaan to assist in the attack. And I mean everyone. We’ll need healers especially, so make sure they’re aware and take whatever they need with them. Left, Right and I will make our way there, too. You know how to find us.” 

The agents nodded at him before disappearing back through the portal they had come through. It was difficult at first, trying to control Blacktalon agents missions both on Draenor and Azeroth, especially when he had to tell them where to meet him and when. It was one of his mages who came up with a simple way for his agents to find him; a small crystal that Wrathion had to have on his person at all times, but one that mages could use to pinpoint his location and create a portal near him. 

As the portal closed, the three sat back down again, Left and Right somehow managing to conceal their weapons as quickly as they had drawn them. Not for the first time, Wrathion wondered where on earth they kept that many blades. He flopped sideways onto the hard ground, and rolled onto his back with his hands behind his head to stare up at the stars. 

“It will be more difficult for us to conceal ourselves from others, if word of the attack is true.” Right broke the silence between them and Wrathion hummed in reply.

“Yes, but there’s time before the real attack on the Citadel. The Alliance and Horde are most likely still gathering their forces, and they’ll need even more time to ensure they’re properly equipped. In the meantime, all we need to do is make their job easier. I have no doubt the Iron Horde and the Shadow Council have sent reinforcements already to Tanaan, we just need to thin them out.” 

He saw Left and Right look at each other out of the corner of his eye, a silent conversation easily passing between them. They looked back at him.

“Wrathion,” Right said, “we really think you should cons-”

“I will be in Tanaan, and I will fight just as you will.”

“It’s not safe there. Anything could happen to you.” She tried to urge him. They had the same argument frequently, both of his bodyguards believed he should have stayed in Azeroth, where he would be safe. 

“Yes, I could be killed, I could be injured, I could even be captured and tortured for information. But that’s just the same risk that both of you and the rest of Blacktalon take. Besides, the only reason we’re here is because of my mistakes.” 

They fell silent at that. Wrathion was never too open with them, and to openly express his fault in something was odd to them. He knew they just wanted the best for him, that they would rather he be safe than constantly taking risks like he was. 

“Split the Talbuk between you, my magic can sustain me a while longer.” The dragon could tell they wanted to protest at that, but in the end they were only mortal and knew he could and would last longer without food. 

Wrathion heard them eating and talking quietly between themselves as he stared at the stars. This planet was unfamiliar, and uncomfortable and he desperately missed the gentle hum of Azeroth in his mind. His entire being ached to go home, but he was determined to see this out. He was the one who had caused this mess, and he should be the one responsible for cleaning it up. 

Tomorrow, the three would fly to Tanaan and he would have to find somewhere to set up as a temporary base for his agents. The healers would need a safe space, something easy to guard when agents inevitably turned up injured. They would also need to wait for night to fall so his scales would blend with the darkness in and safely carry them over the jungle. 

Typically, the three rotated their shifts as lookouts throughout the night to ensure they wouldn’t be ambushed while they were all sleeping. That night, Wrathion had volunteered to do the first shift and waited for Left and Right to fall asleep before he carefully stood up. He didn’t feel tired, doubted he would be able to sleep at any point soon. 

The dragon walked away from the camp, not too far as to leave them in danger, but far enough away they wouldn’t wake at the slightest sound. He shifted to his true form and spread his wings to take flight. The only place he truly felt settled here on Draenor was when he was flying. He made sure to stick close to the camp and keep an eye on it. 

Wrathion stayed up there, lazily circling the air until he could see light peeking over the horizon. It was nice to stretch his wings after spending so long in his mortal form. He returned to the camp, shifted back and waved a hand to put the fire out. He carefully used a boot to push dirt over the burning embers to cover the smoke that would remain after his enchantment faded. 

He spent most of the morning being berated by both Left and Right for staying and not waking up either of them for their turn as lookout. The dragon listened to them in amusement but ignored them as he scoured a map of Tanaan Jungle. He briefly wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother. Or, mothers. Dragons on Azeroth were born into a flight, surrounded by at least a few hundred other family members.

Family was just another thing the Red Dragonflight had denied him. Despite how they had stolen his entire clutch, their experiments meant he was the only whelp who survived. The thin surgical scars over his body tingled at the thought. Perhaps that wasn’t totally correct. He carried his brothers and sisters with him, after all. Family was something he had denied himself,too, when he ordered the death of his kin and then Fahrad.

He missed Fahrad. Sometimes it felt like a vague thought at the back of his mind that something was missing, and other times Wrathion almost physically ached with the loss. Dragons were not meant to be alone in the world. Even in the midst of their madness, the Black Dragonflight still had each other, they had others that understood the pain. Wrathion didn’t. He truly had no one left by his own design.

Left and Right passed the day together, sharpening so many weapons that he couldn’t remember all the places they were pulled from. He continued to study maps, marking and making notes where appropriate. He had picked out a few areas they could set up base, but they would need to be scouted out first. At some point, his bodyguards left to see if they could hunt anything else before night fell again. 

They came back empty handed, not too many animals strayed this close to the mountains and they were camped too far into the rocks, which meant it would take hours both ways. It wasn’t much of a problem when considering where they were headed. With the heavy cover of trees and under the darkness of night, Wrathion could easily help a hunt in his true form, anyway. 

All three were ready by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon. Left packed up their few belongings and tied them securely to his scales while Right made sure they would leave no trace of ever being there. They didn’t stay any longer than they had to before Wrathion flew them North-East over the mountains into Tanaan Jungle. 

He made sure to fly high above the trees. Just as Wrathion had expected, Tanaan was crawling with enemy forces, torches and fires lighting the forest up in unnatural light. Left and Right ducked low on his back but peeked over to note where camps were and where the forces seemed to be more concentrated. In the distance to the East in front of them, the Dark Portal stood, illuminated in the moonlight. 

They reached their destination, a cavernous system running in the mountains near Fang’rila. Wrathion landed, Left and Right jumping off quickly and running off to scout while he took flight again to make sure they weren’t followed and to ensure no enemies were nearby. They returned outside the caves to signal him down a while later. It was empty and abandoned, no secret entrances and it would be easy to defend against attackers. The high entrance also meant they would have the advantage should they be attacked. 

The days that followed were filled with reinforcing the caverns and meeting agents that had turned up. Wrathion placed the small crystal that tracked his location safely inside the caves, on a surface that the healers were beginning to use. It would probably be more useful here now, especially if agents couldn’t get back to the base by other means. If they were too injured to walk themselves back, for example. 

When enough Blacktalon agents had arrived, Wrathion left them to travel North with Left and Right to the Throne of Kil’jaeden. They needed to see if reinforcements were sending supplies either to or from the Citadel, and then would destroy such routes and dissuade enemy forces from trying again. They left during the night again, flying under the cover of darkness. 

Those few days in caves was all the calmness the universe would grant him.

He dropped Left and Right off near the base of the path up towards the Throne, while he flew even further North to scout ahead and see what sort of enemies awaited them at the top and to determine if they were prepared to fight. As Wrathion flew over one of the glowing green pools, something weighted hit him from the side. It had enough force to knock him from the sky, the wing that was hit being crushed painfully against his body. 

The dragon hit the ground hard, skidding along the hard rock for quite a few paces before he came to a stop. He growled and made to stand up but he was tangled in something. As he struggled against what felt like thin chains, Wrathion realised he had been hit by a weighted net. His wing ached and his body hurt from the fall, but it meant something had seen him and something was coming for him.

It only took a few moments to be completely surrounded by fel-tainted orcs and the dragon snarled at them, just daring them to come closer. The first orc that took the challenge was burned to a crisp, the second had his abdomen scooped out by sharp claws as soon as he was in reach. He managed to kill a few more before there were just too many. 

Wrathion snapped his jaws at anyone who came close, not that he could bite them through the chain net, but two of them jumped on his head to push him down to the ground and they were heavy enough he couldn’t move against their weight. His body thrashed against them, and his tail swiped through the air manically. When he was sufficiently pinned down by them, one orc who he assumed to be some sort of leader walked in front of him. Wrathion pulled his lips back in a snarl to show off his teeth, but the orc just laughed at his efforts.

They spoke in a language he was completely unfamiliar with, and the leader approached him with a threatening smile. The orc reached out to touch his snout and the dragon felt all the fight immediately drain out of him, exhaustion hit hard and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Wrathion fell completely slack and everything went dark.

When he woke up, it was in pieces. His body felt heavy and he couldn’t command any of his limbs to move. He heard a scraping sound near his head and with effort, finally managed to open his eyes. He was being dragged along the ground, body encased in strong iron chains. Wrathion’s wings were tightly bound and pinned to his body, his snout encased in a solid muzzle which didn’t allow any movement of his jaw. It was even difficult to breathe with it on. His legs were in a similar situation to his wings, chained tightly down in awkward positions and close to his belly. 

He felt weak and it took time for him to feel the cold metal tight around his neck. It was presumably some sort of collar, enchanted to separate a being from their magic to reduce the chance of prisoners being able to fight back. The ground was rough against his scales, but he was bound so securely that he couldn’t even wriggle against the restraints . Being out cold meant that Wrathion had no idea where they were, couldn’t place anything they passed with landmarks on his maps. He could only hope Left and Right had seen him being taken. He hoped their cover wasn’t blown, that they were safe, at least.

The dragon drifted in and out of more sleep, the artificial exhaustion still lingering in the back of his mind. He woke up again suddenly when they stopped and looked around at anything he could see in his limited vision. The orcs gathered around him and spoke in their strange language while hooking his chains into hooks that were buried into the ground. His already limited movement became even more restricted. He could only move a few inches either way. 

The collar on his neck drained him of so much magic, he wouldn’t be able to maintain the illusion of a human form. Wrathion was truly stuck like this until there was an opportunity to escape, or if someone came to help him. The orcs left him after making sure he was secure, and for the first few hours he rattled the chains to see if there were any weaknesses or give to them. The panic and exertion made it difficult to breathe with the muzzle on and he was forced to stop. Still, no one came near him.

In fact, the dragon watched the sun rise and fall multiple times before the orcs came near him again. They talked among themselves and brought strange metal tools along, which were tossed carelessly on a wooden surface nearby. They didn’t pay any attention to the bound dragon, didn’t even look his way even as they came to stand by his shoulder. He let out a growl in warning, which was ignored again.

Wrathion truly began to panic when they left his line of sight and he felt a light touch on his shoulder. The touch quickly became pain when something cold and hard was forced between his scales. It hurt, but it was bearable. His coherent thoughts ended there as the orcs began to painstakingly pull out his scales one by one. Though dragons scales were tough, impenetrable by most mortal weapons, the flesh underneath was vulnerable and pulling scales out took a lot of force, not to mention how overwhelming the pain was for something so small. 

He writhed under the pain, body pulling against the chains that kept him hooked down. It was so sharp and intense, something he couldn’t ignore or get away from and he couldn’t make a sound as the muzzle held firm around his face. All he could do was release growls and snarls that did nothing, while his heart pounded painfully in his chest.

Logically, Wrathion knew his scales would grow back, but the knowledge didn’t stop it from hurting. The orcs were at it for hours, plucking scales from his skin one by one until the sun hung low in the sky and his body trembled against the pain. He could feel the blood trickling down his shoulder and leg, pooling uncomfortably under him. 

The dragon breathed a sigh of relief when the orcs stepped away, seemingly satisfied for now. He shivered alone in the dark when the sun dipped below the horizon, nights were cold without fire on Draenor. He had a bad feeling about this situation, something told him this only was just beginning.

The orcs once again left him alone the next day, completely ignored his existence, even. The day after, water was dumped onto the floor in front of him, just enough to make a puddle and it took hours for him to figure out how to drink it with the metal on his head, which didn’t allow his jaws to open at all. 

Days passed again, and the wound became infuriatingly itchy as the scales began to grow back. It was almost driving him insane that he couldn’t scratch it and nothing could lessen the need. 

The torture began anew the day it was clear Wrathion’s scales were fully healed. They once again plucked scale by scale, leaving a fresh patch of skin vulnerable to the air. He thought it would be the same as the last time, that they would just leave him at that. How wrong he was. From outside of his vision, he heard the telltale strange sizzle of frost magic. As soon as the cold came into contact with his skin, Wrathion truly could not contain the scream that ripped itself from his throat. 

He thrashed involuntarily against the pain, body heaving with the effort. He wrenched his head back and forth, desperately trying to escape the touch from the mage. The dragon could feel the soft flesh begin to burn from the cold, harden and crack. He vaguely realised at some point the mage had pulled away and gave him some time to breathe before going back in again.

This was how the days continued for Wrathion. Being left alone for a time to heal, before being put through more torture. He began to lose time, drifting in and out of consciousness, and he had no way of knowing how long he had been out for. The orcs carried on in their viciousness, breaking wings and limbs, ripping out the claws in his legs and measuring the time it took for them to grow back.

Wrathion had asked them once. Or rather, had begged through the pain and offered them anything they wished from him. He would give them any information, would use his forces to get them to Azeroth, he would do _anything_ to get them to stop. The orcs had laughed at him and his efforts, clearly understood the language he had used, but never answered him. He wasn’t here for information or to be used as a weapon. He was just here as entertainment.

It was difficult to hold onto his sanity when pain became a constant for him. It was all-consuming, wracked through his body with every breath and ever present. He felt disoriented, with not knowing where he was or how long he had been there. He thinks it was during one of the cold evenings when he finally broke.

He stared up at the sky, aching for the warmth of Azeroth and wondered if this was how it felt for his flight, his father, before they succumbed to the madness of the Old Gods. Wondered if they felt as if they were balancing on the edge of a blade, one small misstep and they would fall into insanity. He felt so alone, so desperately lonely with no one to stand by him. 

Wrathion wished Fahrad was here. He would know what to do, how to calm him down and know exactly what to say. He cried from the anguish, from every mistake he had made in his short life, everything suddenly just crashed down on him and the weight was too much for him to bear. 

But he deserved this, he realised. For all the pain and anguish and death he had caused to others, this was the payment that he had to make in return. With the acceptance came an odd calmness despite the situation. There was no reason to struggle against the pain, he was alone here and no one would come for him. 

The dragon stopped crying, and for the first time relaxed into the lingering agony. If he ever managed to get away from here, Wrathion doubted he’d be able to walk properly again. At that thought, his mind went to Anduin whose pain would never truly fade from his injuries; how sad that they would match in such a way. 

Throughout the next few ‘sessions’ with the orcs, Wrathion barely moved, hardly even made a sound. They seemed frustrated with the lack of reaction, coming to him every day and left no time for his wounds to heal. It was the first reaction he had managed to pull from them. The only solace he got was in his dreams, where he escaped to a better place, playing Jihui with Anduin while Fahrad watched over them. 

It was from one of these dreams, that Wrathion was suddenly awoken by a searing pain in his back. It hurt more than anything these orcs had done to him and he couldn’t help but seize against the chains. Something was being stabbed through his scales and skin, being hooked into flesh near his wings and he forgot all the thoughts about accepting this fate. 

Wrathion screamed and struggled against the chains, almost snapping his jaw in the fight. It was consuming him, and he both heard and felt the dull crunch of bone where whatever was being put inside his flesh had snapped through the upper part of his large ribcage. Eventually, it stopped moving and the agony throbbed through his back, near where the base of his wing was. 

He was allowed a gracious few moments to breathe before they started on another one. Hooks, Wrathion thought distantly. The same hooks that kept him imprisoned on the ground were being forced in and underneath the flesh by his wings. It hurt. It was so much worse than anything he had been put through before.

Once the second hook was secured, the orcs removed the chains attaching him to the ground. They were doing… Something with his restraints, but they were just out of his line of sight. Something made a metallic sound and all over his body, the chains were loosened. The dragon had the vague thought that he must have grown so gradually in captivity, that he hadn’t even noticed the chains becoming that tight. Breathing came easier to him. 

One orc moved right in front of him and reached out towards the muzzle. Wrathion watched him carefully, his mind moving from one thought to the next. Was this piece of solid iron really about to come off? Was this some sort of test? It fell off his head and onto the floor with a loud sound that rattled in his ears. He lay there, prone and uncovered with loose chains and free jaws. 

Everything in his head stopped for those few moments. He had to do something, this could very well be his only chance for escape. But as soon as movement from the fel-tainted orc caught his eye, bloodlust and madness consumed him. Wrathion wanted to taste blood in his teeth, wanted to fly high in the clouds and burn every inch of this miserable planet. 

He understood, then, what his flight had gone through. He truly understood their madness and mourned for them. This was nothing simple like a descent into insanity, this was a burning need, something that had consumed them entirely. It was an insatiable hunger, a desire and Wrathion truly could not stop himself as he clamped his jaws around the orc’s torso.

The blood rushed into his mouth, and he held even tighter against the shouts and struggles. Bones snapped loudly and sickeningly, and the orc fell limp. All the anger and pain and madness devoured him whole and it was as if a red mist fell over his eyes. These mortals had dared to imprison him?! He was the last black dragon alive, and he had just laid down and accepted it?

No longer. 

He would destroy them. This planet’s wretched kingdoms would quake beneath his rage and all would burn beneath the shadow of his wings. Wrathion tossed the orc away and released the fire trapped in his lungs. Anyone standing closeby held no chance against the Dragonfire. In seconds, their bodies burned leaving nothing but ash. 

Multiple things then happened at once. As Wrathion took just a fraction of a second to inhale, an orc got near enough to splash a bucketful of something onto his face and eyes. It sizzled and burned through his scales, and he shut his eyes against the burn there. He screeched in pain and struggled against the chains, bearing enough strength against them that they groaned audibly. 

As he writhed against the pain, agony in his back exploded. The hooks that had been previously forced under his skin were attached to some sort of pulley system that hoisted him in the air. Blood from the acid-like substance dripped down his face as he was cleanly lifted off the floor, the weight of his entire body being held by the thick muscles in his back.

Time became strange after that. After Wrathion desperately struggled, completely prone in the air, the anger and madness made way to pure agony. Such concentrated pain in his face and shoulders. He’d most likely been blinded, he realised with vague clarity, could no longer measure the days. Not that he had been doing a good job of measuring them recently, anyway. 

There was no breeze here, but the dragon still swung eerily in the chains. He faintly remembered the halls of Blackwing, the creak of chains in his ears rattling despite no wind, upsetting the rotting corpses of dragons hanging from them. 

“How ironic it is to see a black dragon hanging from those chains.” A voice rang in his ears. The first voice he had truly heard for… Months, now was it? Perhaps years? It was familiar, a voice he knew well and the person it belonged to. “Still, it’s not anything you don’t deserve.” 

How right Anduin was.

“Leave him, he’s been through enough.” Another voice replied. The owner was someone Wrathion missed dearly. 

_Fahrad?_

“Yes, I’m here.” a ghostly touch brushed his head despite how high he was hanging, “Sleep now, we’ll be waiting.” 

Truly nothing must remain of his sanity, Wrathion thought, and fell into unconsciousness once more.

Time passed. It must have passed because time continued no matter what happened. How much time had passed though, he wondered, hanging from these chains and wounds festering in the hot sun. No magic in his being remained to make an attempt to heal the injuries.

Fahrad and Anduin continued to visit him. At the back of his mind, he knew they weren’t real, but these ghosts were truly the only comfort he had here. The prince would spend his time between reminiscing memories spent together and then blaming the dragon for everything he had done. Fahrad would gently run his hands over scarred scales and tell him about his family, before the madness had overcome them. 

He had grown again, the chains once again growing tight around his body. He was tormented with agony as his growth continued, but this time the chains were not replaced. The dragon felt every long second as his breastbone was slowly crushed and wings were crippled by the constraints. He endured every moment the chains dug into his scales and every minute his skin slowly parted in huge and deep wounds where the iron grew into his skin. Or rather, where his body started to grow around it.

It was during a dream that the bonds that held up his body suddenly snapped and he fell to the ground with a crash. Wrathion lay there in shock and surprise, thought that the orcs had let him down for a moment before he realised there was nothing. No sound, no foul scent. Had he… Been left here? Left to die suspended in the air in a sick mockery of flight?

The dragon held no energy left to fight against the chains around his body. He had been left bereft of food and water for so long, there was nothing left to sustain him. He thought about those dragons in Blackwing, how long they also had to endure such agony before the release of death was granted to them. 

It would have been nice to fly once more. To feel the wind under his wings. 

It would have been even nicer to see Anduin again. Even if it was just a glimpse.

———

_“-ion! Wra-…! Wrathion! WAKE UP!”_


	3. Chapter 3

Anduin sat back in the chair by the bed, and placed his head in his hands. It was just as Left and Right had said. The wound showed no signs of being healed, or even closing. He had tried everything he could. The Light didn’t help, he had even tried casting a Shadow Mend and Penance to no avail. He had tried older methods, like suturing the wound closed, despite knowing it wouldn’t work. But the completely non-reaction from the spells had made Anduin curious to see how it would react to physical attempts to close it.

It was clearly a magically inflicted wound, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen. As a Priest, Anduin had seen many injuries before that would be difficult to heal, but they had certain reactions to the Light and other methods of healing. For example, certain injuries caused by the Fel would almost certainly show signs of rejecting attempts at healing.

This wound showed nothing. No rejection, just... nothing. A complete non-reaction was something he had never seen before, something he had never even heard about before. It wasn’t just the wound above Wrathion’s heart Anduin was worried about, either. The deep and wide lacerations over his torso had taken a worryingly large amount of effort to heal even a small bit. They didn’t even look much better than before he had started. 

It raised a lot of questions for him. Where had these been inflicted and why hadn’t the dragon sought out proper medical assistance? Anduin knew Blacktalon had healers under their command, so why weren’t these scarring already? 

The King looked at Wrathion lying in the bed and couldn’t help the pain in his chest as he watched the prone form. He remembered them spending time together in this tavern, talking the days away about anything and everything they could. He remembered dancing late into the night when his pain was bearable. 

Anduin’s hand twitched involuntarily with the memory of how warm Wrathion’s waist felt when the dragon had managed to cajole him into dancing for the first time. The Pandaren with them had laughed and clapped along to the music, some even joining to dance but all the Prince could focus on at the time was the dragon. 

It was the warmest memory he held of Wrathion, the boy’s grin was so large it showed off the sharp fangs usually carefully concealed in his mouth. Anduin remembered how soft he looked in dimming light, skin almost glowing golden against the gentle lantern light. All the Prince wanted to do that evening was see how soft Wrathion’s lips would have been against his own. 

It was difficult to reconcile those memories with the prone figure that lay on the bed. Anduin leaned forward in the chair and couldn’t resist the temptation to reach out and lightly brush his hand against Wrathion’s. He had thought these feelings were gone, that perhaps he had grown out of them. Clearly not, he thought, as he linked their fingers and gently brushed a hand over the dragon’s knuckles. 

He sat there for some time, just staring at Wrathion’s face. He was thinking of better times, when it was just the two of them in a lost tavern with no concern for the world outside. Anduin was pulled out of his thoughts when a gentle knock sounded at the door. He looked up, and swiftly drew back from the dragon as it opened. 

Through the door came the priest from before. She held a tray between her hands as she closed the door with her hip behind her. Milycie looked up and smiled at Anduin and walked forward, around the bed to where he was sat. She offered the tray to him, which held food and water and he finally realised how hungry he was.

“I didn’t know when you had last eaten, so I thought I’d bring you something. I know how exhausting it is to heal through the night,” she said quietly, as if concerned she’d wake up the unconscious figure on the bed.

“Thank you,” Anduin replied gratefully as he took the tray from her. It was just a simple broth, one of Tong’s own, but it was more than welcome. He began to eat as he watched the Nightborne check on Wrathion, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand and going to get a cool cloth to dab at the skin there. 

“Did you have any luck, Your Majesty?” Her soft voice broke through his thoughts.

“Ah,” he began, “I’m afraid not. And please, just Anduin is fine.” 

“Then you may call me Mily,” she told him and sat in another chair near the bed. 

“May I-” Anduin cut himself off, “Forgive me for being so intrusive, but… Can I ask why you’re here?” 

Milycie’s clothes were different to the typical dark colours of Blacktalon, and she didn’t have the tell-tale subtle clasp near her shoulders. It was safe to assume she wasn’t part of Wrathion’s agents, not to mention she was a Nightborne and only recently freed from the walls of Suramar. 

She looked down at her hands in her lap, and her hair fell over her shoulders to cover her face. She was unreadable and Anduin immediately felt bad for asking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “you don’t have to an-”

“I serve the Light,” Milycie said, and looked up at him. He felt as if her eyes pierced through his soul, as if she could see everything laid bare, “When people ask for my aid, I must help. Where there are people suffering, I must do anything in my power to ease their pain.” 

Anduin looked down to Wrathion again, his feelings swirling like a maelstrom in his chest. As King, he served the Alliance and his people and it was often difficult in these times that he could go to the Cathedral of Light to visit the priests there. He didn’t often get to serve the Light anymore. Mily reached out to smooth the sheets over the dragon, making sure he was comfortable.

“We are priests,” she said to him, “we must answer the call of the Light and help when people need us. Our feelings cannot get in the way, when one misstep may mean the difference between life and death. Even if it’s someone we hate. Even if it’s someone we love.”

There was no way she could know what happened between him and Wrathion, but she spoke as if she did. Perhaps he was over thinking and it was more personal than that, and she was speaking from experience. Perhaps she could just tell. But it was the truth, no matter what Wrathion was to him, no matter what he could have been to Anduin, as a priest he couldn’t let that get in the way. 

His anger towards Wrathion could cause him to overlook something. His affection towards the dragon could cause him to misstep. There was only the Light in this situation, and he had to trust in it.

The two sat in silence before the door opened again. Right stepped through, Left nowhere in sight and Milycie stood up to leave. The priest bowed to both of them before exiting the room and Right sat in the vacated chair. Anduin truly took the time to look at her now. How exhausted she looked, how the dark circles under her eyes looked like solid bruises, how her cheekbones popped out more than he remembered. How much older she looked since they had last met. There was an invisible weight on her shoulders, and it caused her to look defeated.

“Is there any change?” Right asked, and it almost sounded as if she was begging him for any difference at all. 

“I’m afraid not,” Anduin sighed and rubbed his forehead, “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Nothing had any affect, there was just… No reaction at all.”

“I feared you would say that,” she said quietly, but it was more to herself than to him. 

“It’s a magical wound,” he guessed and she looked up to him.

“Yes.” Anduin waited for her to continue, but she said nothing else. He grew frustrated with the lack of information they were giving him.

“I can’t help unless you tell me everything you can.” 

Right stared at him, an unreadable expression on her face. He was about to shrink back from the intensity of it, when she suddenly exhaled heavily. She reached over and brushed some of Wrathion’s hair back from his face with the care of a mother to her son.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “for not trusting you, despite what we’re asking you to do.”

She took a few more moments before she spoke again, just gently running her fingers through the dragon's hair, an expression of utter love and affection, and it almost hurt Anduin to watch. 

“I think we all forgot the connection Wrathion has with the earth. With Azeroth.” His bad feeling got worse and his stomach dropped. He knew this would be no easy fix. “Whatever happened in Silithus, whatever Sargeras did to cause such a wound to Azeroth… His wound reflects her own.”

She was right. He had forgotten how Wrathion was the current Earth-Warder, but it made sense now. Azeroth was completely upturned under Deathwing’s pain, so of course the bond would run both ways. He realised, however, that this would mean Wrathion’s wound wouldn’t heal until Azeroth’s had. 

Anduin exhaled heavily and covered his face with his hands, digging fingers hardly into his closed eyes to think. They couldn’t heal the wound, not until Azeroth herself was healed, but… That didn’t mean they couldn’t at least make it better. He racked his head with any information on the Black Dragonflight, trying to think of a place that would be a good connection to the earth for Wrathion to heal. 

Dragonblight was where dragons went to die, and Anduin highly doubted Alexstrasza, the Dragon Queen herself, would allow a black dragon to step foot there, no matter if they were cleansed or not. Perhaps he could seek information from her later, though. If she knew if anything like this had happened to Neltharion and how he got better. 

Neltharion… Neltharion… Hadn’t a report crossed his desk at some point, something to do with where the dragon used to reside? Yes, that sounded right. A deep underground cavern system that his champions had cleared out from the drogbar that had taken it over. 

“There’s a cavern in Highmountain,” Anduin said, and Right looked at him, “it was the home of Neltharion before he succumbed to the madness. It might help Wrathion being in a place with such a connection to his flight and the earth.”

“It’s the best lead we have,” she answered, nodding her head slightly, “I’ll get our agents ready to move. We’ll send some ahead to make sure it’s safe.”

“I can join you after I-” He audibly groaned as he thought about having to go back to Shaw and Genn, who had no doubt gone mad with panic as he apparently just disappeared in his own chambers overnight. “I’ll have to return to Stormwind first, but I will join you when I can.”

They both stood up at the same time and stared at each other, both feeling awkward suddenly.

“I’ll have one of our mages sent with you. They can stay with you until you’re ready to join us.”

“Thank you,” he started to walk towards the door, but stopped when he passed Right and she reached out to grab his arm.

“Anduin-” She began, but seemed lost for words, “I am truly grateful. I know Left is, too. You owe nothing to him, or to us, so… Thank you.” 

“He was my friend. Now I need him to wake up so I can shout at him. I owe him a punch or two. I’ve been saving it for years.” Right smiled wearily at the words and he returned the gesture.

“Just… Please be gentle with him. It’s not my place to tell you, but… A lot has happened.”

She left it at that and opened the door to walk out. He followed closely behind her, and noticed how the agents sat at tables or on the floor stood up to receive news. When Right said nothing to them, Anduin saw how disappointed and deflated they became. What on earth could Wrathion have done to inspire such loyalty and care? 

The dragon’s bodyguard took him to a human mage, who gave them her attention as they got close. She stood up to face them, her expression carefully blank and masked.

“Aurellia, I need you to take King Anduin back to Stormwind and stay with him until His Majesty is ready to join us at Highmountain.” The human, Aurellia, bowed her head at the order and motioned for Anduin to follow her out of the tavern. He was surprised to see how high the sun was in the sky, and dreaded the thought of being apprehended by Genn and Shaw as soon as he stepped foot within the city walls. What on earth was he supposed to tell them?

“Your Majesty?” Aurellia asked, getting his attention. She had already created the portal for them and he nodded at her before he stepped through. He stepped out in the same empty space in Elwynn forest that he had first left. Anduin breathed against the strange nausea from using a portal and the mage stepped in after him, appearing completely unaffected. 

He finally paid full attention to Aurellia. She was smaller than him, but not by much, probably standing as tall as just over his shoulders. Her skin was smooth except for a few scars over her nose that went well onto her right cheek and as she turned to face him, he could see the subtle glow of arcane tattoos that shined in the light. Like the other Blacktalon agents, the mage wore dark robes, with a subtle black scale clasp near her collarbone. 

The clasp was something all the agents had, it was the only way for them to truly identify each other, but it was small and didn’t stand out against their clothing, so one wouldn’t notice it unless they were specifically looking. Wrathion had shown them to him years ago, when they were at the inn together. It was only because of that, that Anduin knew to look.

In silence, the two walked through Elwynn forest to the gates of Stormwind. As soon as they came into sight, Aurellia stopped but Anduin took a few steps ahead of her before he realised she had faltered. He looked at her looking at the gates, a slight crease of longing between her eyebrows as she stared at the city.

“Aurellia?” He asked and her head snapped to him. Her expression was quickly muted.

“Sorry, it’s just been…” she looked back to the gates, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”

The mage shook herself off and continued to walk towards the city, with Anduin staring after her. For the first time, he really thought about what kind of people these agents were. Did Wrathion have criminals or wanted people in his employ? Would this cause problems as they got into Stormwind? 

His entrance was much as Anduin expected, Shaw and Genn materialising from apparent thin air as soon as he stepped foot inside the gates, both throwing questions as he tried to assuage their concern and worries. He knew they were only worried about him, and he really could understand having disappeared in the middle of the night and all, but… The two often suffocated him. Anduin felt like they treated him as a child, instead of the King he was.

Shaw stopped talking as he noticed Aurellia stood slightly behind him.

“Who’s this?” He asked, and narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, uh…” Anduin was truly unprepared for this, he should have come up with an actual cover story for where he had been. He knew neither Genn nor Shaw trusted Wrathion, knew they wouldn’t let him leave Stormwind again to help. The master spy somehow mistook his silence for her guilt and narrowed his eyes at her. 

Anduin froze, he didn’t know how else to explain the situation. What was he meant to say? He was kidnapped and she helped him get back? And risk Shaw’s eyes being on him constantly? He wouldn’t be able to get to Highmountain that way. Shaw opened his mouth to say something else, but Anduin cut him off.

“We’re dating,” he blurted out and all three of them looked at him in shock. He wanted to immediately punch himself in the face. _Why_ was that the first thing he had to say? 

“You are?” asked Genn.

“We are?” asked Aurellia. 

“Yes,” he turned to the mage and took one of her hands. She looked… Mildly disgusted, to put it simply. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make it official between us anyway, and I know this is sudden, but I’m tired of hiding and I want them to know. I want everyone to know.”

“Everyone?” she managed to grit out between her teeth. Oh yes, this was positively a fucking _awful_ idea, probably the worst that Anduin had _ever_ had and one that would blow up in his face massively. But it was too late to back down now.

“Yes,” he breathed, and hoped it didn’t sound as desperate as it was.

“Well,” Genn cleared his throat and looked between the two, “this is wonderful news! You should have just told us, Anduin. There’s no need to sneak around like this.” 

Shaw narrowed his eyes at them, he clearly didn’t truly believe the tale.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want Au- _Angela_ to be thrust into the spotlight.” He hadn’t let go of her hand and he could feel her glare burning his side. Probably a good thing for him she wasn’t a fire mage, or he would have burst into flames on the spot.

Aurellia crushed his hand in hers as they walked through Stormwind to the Keep, and he almost winced at the pressure. For a caster, she sure had a strong grip. Shaw eyed them suspiciously the entire way, and the mage started to realise she had to play into the role. But her smiles were a bit too sharp, a bit too much teeth aimed at him.

Anduin truly regretted ever being born and sent a quick thought to the Light to smite him down where he stood. The four made their way into the Keep and into a private meeting room he often used for Shaw’s reports.

“So…” Genn began, clearly brimming with questions. He had been pushing Anduin to choose a wife lately, and this was clearly a huge relief for him. “How long has this been going on?” 

“A few months,” he replied weakly, “I’ve been sneaking out to meet her for a while, but… I ran into some trouble on the way home last night and she helped me.”

“Angela, hm?” Shaw said, and studied her dubiously. It was clear he didn’t believe them, but that was fine. They just needed to keep it up until he could send Shaw and Genn away. 

“Yes,” she replied, staring plainly back at the master spy. The two seemed to be engaged in some sort of mental battle and Anduin didn’t even know how to begin to distract them.

“Well,” Genn clapped his hands together, clearly also feeling the tension, “we’ll leave you two together. Anduin can show you around.” 

The Gilnean grabbed Shaw’s shoulder and forcefully pulled him out of the room, hurriedly whispering in his ear. Just as the door was closing, Genn made sure to turn around and shout one last thing before it shut fully.

“His bedroom is particularly nice!”

Anduin’s knees wobbled as they completely gave in and he collapsed on the floor in both horror and relief. He stared at the floor, wide eyed and lips pursed together as he questioned every single life choice that had ever led him to this moment. 

“I do not get paid enough for this. I’m demanding a raise as soon as we step foot in Highmountain.” Aurellia announced. 

“I am- Aurellia, I am so so sorry.” Anduin looked up at her. She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. 

“I’m giving you one week. I will follow Right’s orders and stay here with you and I’ll even play along with this farce.” She held up a finger, “But one week is all you get. After that, I’m either causing a scene, murdering you, or leaving. Or all three. I haven’t decided yet.”

He put his head in his hands, still on the floor. 

_Light_ , he thought, _save my soul_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter four! Hope you're all enjoying so far. 
> 
> Just wanna say the whole bit about Nyxondra was really inspired by Kall Ursala's 'Memories' on ao3, which I heavily recommend. I really enjoyed it, and I love that chapter so much, and it's stuck with me for like two years now. I just. Love it.

Wrathion stumbled as he struck down another demon, his leg twinging painfully. He wrapped a hand around his torso, and breathed heavily as his sword arm hung limply at his side. He looked up to see how the rest of his agents were doing. 

They stood in front of the entrance to Antorus, where the champions were making an effort to bring the Burning Legion to an end and as Wrathion had suspected, the demons were also making every effort to stop that. Blacktalon were stretched thinly across the path to block them from flanking the champions and ambushing them.

The dragon’s concentration was torn between the battle and the endless demons, and the wall of fire he was channeling as the last line of defense for the entrance to Antorus. His whole body shook with exhaustion from the infinite waves of demons and being completely drained of mana. He hadn’t even traveled to Argus at full power, magic constantly being drained in an effort to heal the still mending wounds. 

Argus was worse than Draenor, Wrathion had decided as soon as he stepped foot on the broken planet. While he was cleansed against the Old Gods’ corruption, he could feel the madness of the world soul here, how he was in pain from what the Legion had put him through and it hurt the deepest parts of Wrathion’s being. Unlike Azeroth’s gentle hum, Argus was a burning rage in the back of his mind. 

A Felguard that had gotten past his other agents caught the dragon off guard and lifted up its two handed axe above its head to bring down. Wrathion barely lifted his sword in defense in time to block the blow. The force rattled his bones, his sword was knocked out of his hand and he fell to a knee, the hand that held the weapon catching himself on the floor as his other arm still cradled his torso.

As the demon raised its axe for another blow, it was struck from behind, the tip of a blade peeking out of its chest. The blade was ripped out and the demon fell to the ground and Wrathion looked up to see Left standing there, covered in green blood from those she had killed. 

She frowned down at him, and he tried to ignore how worried she looked. The orc held out a hand for him and he shakily reached up to grab it. She barely put any effort into hauling him up to his feet, and as he lurched forward, Left steadied him and allowed him to lean his weight onto her. 

“I told you,” she growled, “I told you to stay behind.” 

“Yes, well,” Wrathion gasped, “I’m the one paying you, not the other way around.”

“You don’t pay me enough.” Left said, but her rough attitude towards him was given away when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder to hold him better and he gratefully leaned into it.

“After this, I think I’m giving you a raise.” 

“Did I hear something about a raise?” Said Right who had moved slightly closer to them. She shot them a grin before cutting down another demon and rushed off to give help to some agents nearer to the front line. Wrathion and Left stared after her.

“Please control your wife.” He deadpanned.

“She’s not my wife yet,” Left replied before realising what she had said. 

“Oh? Not yet you say?” Wrathion grinned at her, and she studiously avoided eye contact, a light blush settling over her cheeks.

He looked back down over the path that Blacktalon was protecting and noticed how it wasn’t just him who was faltering. Many of the melee fighters seemed slower, their actions not as precise from how long they had been fighting. He looked to the sides where casters and healers were set up, how they seemed to be completely mana exhausted. They could fail here before the champions succeeded, he realised.

As Wrathion ran through scenarios in his head of what they could do, the earth beneath his feet shuddered. No one else seemed to feel it, Left was steadfast at his side and he realised it was the world-soul itself. His bond was with Azeroth, but he could feel the sudden… hollowness of the planet. 

It was a strange feeling, the utter absence of life in the earth, an awful mockery of how Draenor felt. Argus’ rage that boiled in the back of his mind was suddenly gone, too. It wasn’t as if the life of the planet was gone either, and Wrathion thought that would be preferable. It was obvious, to him at least, that there was something missing. Something that should be there, but wasn’t.

His head dropped slightly at the terrible empty feeling. Left noticed how he drooped slightly, and her arm tightened around his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Argus is… It’s gone.” He breathed, before the meaning caught up to him and he broke out of her hold to turn around to look at the entrance to Antorus. “The champions have-”

The sky lit up above them and he looked up to see a beam of light and pure power sailing over the planet, originating from somewhere much deeper in space. It pierced the strange cloud that had concealed Azeroth from their view. They watched from the planet’s earth as Sargeras was forcefully pulled out of the cloud, and Wrathion couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped him.

To think that the creator of the Burning Legion, whose sole purpose was to destroy all world-souls and life in the universe, was that close to his home was a terrifying revelation. Everything Wrathion had done had been to save Azeroth, to ensure her survival and the survival of life on the planet, and now she would be safe from the Legion. The champions had succeeded, they had triumphed where he had failed.

The demons around them had taken note of what was happening in the sky, many had stopped completely to watch, some even fleeing in the face of their masters' imprisonment. The invisible weight that Wrathion had put on his own shoulders was lifted.

Sargeras reared back in anger and lifted a hand, and the dragon’s eyes widened as he watched a sword be summoned into the titan’s grip. It looked like it was forged from the darkest pits of the Shadowlands, something so awful it could have only come from the Maw. 

“No,” he breathed as he watched helplessly from a planet away, as Sargeras started to plunge the sword into the atmosphere. 

Wrathion’s bond with Azeroth had been silent, too far away from her to feel her presence or hear her gentle hum in her mind. It flared to life as the sword broke through the crust of the earth, and all he could hear were her screams. He faintly felt the hard grip of hands on his arms and it was then he realised he was screaming in pain, too.

He could feel the wound as if it was his own, as if the sword was being plunged through his chest instead of Azeroth. Wrathion screamed until his voice cracked and broke, and even long after that. Sargeras was long gone by the time he could stop. Pure agony wracked through his body, it became part of his very being, ran through his lifeblood and burned hotter than any fire could hope to burn. 

His legs gave out underneath him and someone caught him, gently lowering him to the floor. He could hear voices shouting at him, or perhaps they were shouting at each other but all the Earth-Warder could focus on was the pain, the cries in his head. He stared off into nothing as darkness crept into his vision and he could vaguely hear someone’s heartbeat. He must have been moved onto someone’s chest, he briefly thought before succumbing to utter unconsciousness. 

—————————————————————————

Wrathion’s early memories haunted him. For many whelps, their first memories would just be a faint recollection of warmth and love from their mothers. Not for him. Not for the abomination the Red Dragonflight had created from Nefarion’s own research. 

His earliest memories were agony and loneliness, a mere introduction to the world he was born into. All he knew was the pain of being cut apart and fused together to form one disgusting whelp. A whelp that was ripped from the bond of siblings, left and expected to die in its egg.

As a whelp, having a smaller form, it was less obvious what had been done to him. But as he grew, Wrathion had learned to never turn his head while in his true form. He avoided the vision of mismatched scales carefully split by surgical scars that ran over his body. He thought of himself akin to one of the huge undead monstrosities that skulked the sewers of the Undercity. 

Those memories of being cut up by the Red Dragonflight always lingered in his mind, chased him into his dreams and would wake him screaming. It was his worst nightmare, his worst memory and now, wherever he was, Wrathion was forced to relive it.

He didn’t know where he was. Wasn’t sure what happened after he closed his eyes on Argus, just that he was surrounded in a suffocating darkness. In his mind’s eye, as if he was an observer, he watched those red dragons carefully crack open his clutch’s eggs and take out those vulnerable whelps. He recognised the purple scales of the young female they held, the brown scales that ran along his flank and the black scales that made up most of his torso. 

As carefully as the dragons held the whelps, the apathy and mild disgust in which they sliced into the underdeveloped scales was noticeable. Wrathion was frozen, he couldn’t move, couldn’t even make a sound or barely breathe as he watched the scene of his creation. 

Organs were taken and transferred, entire limbs formed around different bones, skulls cracked open to be fused together. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours or days but time meant nothing to him as he watched his brothers and sisters die to give him life. The whelp that would become him was once again held with care and placed back inside an egg, the shell fused back together to give him time to incubate and ensure everything was fully merged together.

The red dragons left and he stood there, watching the single black egg in the dim light of the basement he was forgotten in. Wrathion felt warmth on his face and he faintly realised he was crying, couldn’t help the reaction as he remembered what it was like to be in that egg, all alone and cold, with no one in the world to look for him or save him. 

Why was he here? Why was he forced to watch and relive this pain? 

A noise sounded from behind him, someone was coming from the stairs but he couldn’t make himself turn to look. From the side, a human figure appeared, tall and broad, and donned in the unmistakable dark leathers of a rogue who resided at Ravenholdt. It was Fahrad, exactly as Wrathion remembered him, and he watched as the older dragon knelt by his egg and stroked the shell in reverence. 

“Please don’t make me watch this.” He finally managed to croak, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. 

“You have to.” A voice answered him. It was deep and loud, and he felt it reverberate through his chest. It surrounded him and echoed, no specific direction that it could have originated from.

“Why?” He asked again, tears running anew as he watched how careful Fahrad was with his egg. The first warmth and love he had ever experienced.

“You _have_ to.”

—————————————————————————

She had been frightened, he remembered. 

A mother’s warmth so briefly experienced before they were stolen away. It was a memory in pieces, recalled by all the collective parts of him in one confusing feeling. 

She had wanted to promise them safety, to promise them that she would protect them. Even so far into the madness, Nyxondra had kept her fierce love for her children. He could feel her pain as she was beaten while trying to protect her eggs, the children she would never see hatch. 

She had been sad, he remembered.

Three more eggs were stolen under her nose, imprisoned under the red dragon’s magic and she could do nothing but fight, even as weakened as she was. She cried out for them, the whelps that would later create Wrathion, screamed out for her lost children in the night. 

He remembered longing for her warmth, the huge body that should have been wrapped around her clutch, keeping them company and giving them heat. He remembered being cold and alone, could feel the other eggs nearby but they were kept separated. 

Oh, the loneliness. Not even born into the world, but already stolen from their mother’s side, from each other’s side where they should have been. Not even born, and yet stamped with the label of untrustworthy. No matter what Wrathion did, no one would ever trust him.

And oh, she had been _furious_ , he remembered.

From across the land, Nyxondra felt how her precious whelps were torn apart, the bad pieces discarded and the good pieces sewn and fused together to create a sick imitation of a whelp. 

Her anger was intense, and the last thing the whelps remembered of her before they were murdered. The abomination that would be Wrathion heard her voice echoing across the land, she screamed with her fury, vowed vengeance on those who had wronged her and her children.

“My kin won’t forget what you’ve done!”

In a way, she was right. After she had been put down, the Black Dragonflight did not forget what had happened. Their fury was only amplified after. Even with one surviving member of the flight, Wrathion would never forget. He would not forgive the Red Dragonflight for what they had done to him, to his brothers and sisters and to his mother. 

“We will rage, mortals!”

Anger and rage and fury was the first thing the abomination had truly experienced from his mother. He had named himself after that rage, the only reminder of his mother he could have. How she had so desperately wanted to protect her children, to raise them and to love them. Even as far into her madness that she was, that was all she had wanted and it was everything that she was denied. 

He named himself after the rage that she had promised the mortals and the red dragon and the wrath she had brought down upon them.

Wrath. Wrathion. 

He never knew her, but he missed Nyxondra’s warmth. 

—————————————————————————

He was falling. His wings were crushed and he was falling through the darkness. 

It was an awful feeling, utterly and totally disorienting. Was he falling down? Was he falling up? The darkness was total and absolute. There was nothing.

At the bottom (or was it the top?) a huge eye opened, orange and bloodshot. 

“You are never beyond my reach.”

—————————————————————————

“Care for company?”

“You know, Jaina and my father would just as soon I not talk to you anymore, so by all means, please do come down and keep my company.”

_A black dragon. Tainted. Untrustworthy. Dangerous_.

—————————————————————————

“When I am a little older I shall, if asked politely, take you on my back and ferry you to fascinating places, where we will have adventures that will age your father in ten years.”

_Come away with me. Let’s leave our responsibilities and go somewhere no one knows us, somewhere we have no obligations. Somewhere we can just be. Together_. 

“You have no idea how wonderful that sounds.” 

_I do know_. _I_ do. 

—————————————————————————

“Varian! Varian!”

“Take this to my son.”

_Was this me?_

—————————————————————————

“You will be remembered as the king that sacrificed his life… For nothing.”

“For the Alliance.”

_Was this my doing?_

—————————————————————————

“Mercy?! THERE IS NO MERCY! YOU WILL BURN FOR THIS, DRAGON!”

_Is this my destiny?_

—————————————————————————

“You don’t have to do it this way. Tell me what’s going on. We can work together. We can find some way to-”

“Farewell for now, young prince.”

_I’m sorry_.

—————————————————————————

Darkness.

_Help me_.

—————————————————————————

Emptiness. 

_Someone, please_.

—————————————————————————

Silence.

_Find me_.

—————————————————————————

And then-

_“You think you’re a player in this game? You’re not even a piece on the board.”_

—————————————————————————

Wrathion woke with a start, gasping for breath as if he had been held underwater for a long time. He sat bolt upright and grasped at his chest, but found there was no pain there. It was as if he had never been wounded. 

He sat up, and looked around. It was bright, and it seemed he was in the halls of… Stormwind Keep? How did he get here? What happened after Argus? The dragon cautiously stood, and brushed his clothes off before choosing a random direction to walk in.

The halls were strange, well lit and yet there were no windows to allow sunlight in, nor were there any torches lining the walls. The hall seemed to go on forever and he stopped after a good while. He looked behind him, but the hallway just stretched as far as his eyes could see. He looked in front of him and it was exactly the same. Just a long hallway, with no windows and no doors. Nowhere to go but one way or another. 

With a small nod to himself, Wrathion continued the way he had been heading. It was infuriating, walking mindlessly in one direction through the same hallway, past the same small alcoves and pillars and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he had been walking in circles. 

He continued to walk and walk, until his legs hurt and even past that. It had easily been hours walking in the same direction, but it was just the same hallway. The light hadn’t changed, despite the fact it should have gotten at least darker, never mind the fact that without windows it should have been dark anyway. 

There was a pointless anger at the ordeal that boiled in his chest, accompanied by a strange buzzing sound. The louder the buzzing got, the angrier he felt. Or perhaps it was the other way around? It didn’t sound as if it was coming from one way or another, and with the singular hallway, there was just no way to tell where it was coming from.

More time passed, but all the dragon could do was to keep moving. He had tried running and sprinting down the hallway, had even tried to turn around and see if anything would happen. Nothing changed. It was the same hallway, with the same alcoves and pillars. 

The buzzing got louder.

Wrathion had grown so frustrated at one point that despite the size of the hallway, he had attempted to shift into his true form. He knew he wouldn’t fit, but perhaps he could break out through the stone wall. It didn’t work. His magic felt… Distant. Something he couldn’t tap into. 

He started to panic, then. The dragon hadn’t wanted to accept the fact he was in some sort of trap, an endless hallway that didn’t lead anywhere no matter how far he walked. 

The buzzing noise got louder and the walls vibrated with the noise. Wrathion covered his ears, but it didn’t lessen the volume. It continued to get louder and he bent over and closed his eyes to the noise, gritting his teeth at how awful it felt. The ground shook beneath his feet. 

As quickly as it started, the buzzing stopped. Wrathion opened his eyes to find he was somewhere new; a large room with countless paintings of… Were these Kings? The buzz and hallway were quickly forgotten, the memories slipped through his mind as if washed away by a gentle stream of water. 

The dragon walked to one edge of the room, and looked up at the large painting of a human male. He looked regal in blue and silver armour, and a crown sat high on his head. It was no one Wrathion recognised and he saw a small plaque below the frame. He bent down slightly to read it.

“King Landen Wrynn.” He said aloud, but the name was unfamiliar to him. There was a date on the plaque too, presumably marking the year he was born and the year he died in. He moved to the painting next to that, and the next, exploring the room as if this were no strange occurrence.

King Landen Wrynn; dead. King Adamant Wrynn III; dead. King Llane Wrynn I; dead. Regent Lord Anduin Lothar; dead. King Varian Wrynn-

Wrathion stopped walking. He started at the small plaque below the painting of Anduin’s father, the small date marking his death. King Varian was… Dead? That wasn’t right. The last he heard was reports about Varian’s actions in Draenor. How did he die? It certainly wasn’t against the Iron Horde. 

His stomach dropped as he realised what that could mean. Did the King die against the Legion? Why had he not been told? Why did he not receive any report or news about this before he awoke from his healing sleep and traveled to Argus?

The dragon reached out a shaking hand and was a hairs width away from touching the frame when a noise sounded from behind him. He turned quickly, and was suddenly stood in someone’s chambers. Wrathion looked around, it seemed he was still in Stormwind somewhere. 

It was a large room, easily elegant enough for royalty. A desk laden with paper reports stood to his right, the four-poster bed to his left and open balcony doors in front of him. He walked towards the doors, and saw the back of a familiar blond head. 

“Anduin?” Wrathion asked, with no response. The Prince (or could he be King now?) stood with his back facing the dragon, and stared off into the distance that Wrathion couldn’t see. There was something wrong here, a strange weight settled into the pit of his stomach. He walked closer.

“Anduin?” Still, no response from the blond. “ _Anduin_!”

He had to shout to get a response, and Anduin finally turned to face him. His face was… Different. An odd blankness about it, completely different to how Wrathion remembered him.

“This is all your fault,” he said, “they’re here because of you.”

“Who?” Wrathion tried to ask, but Anduin ignored him. The blond lifted a hand and an invisible force wrapped itself around the dragon’s throat and lifted him cleanly off the ground. He kicked his legs in the struggle to be freed and grasped at the unseen hand. 

“I trusted you,” Anduin continued in his flat voice. “I trusted you. You were my friend and you betrayed me.” 

The dragon couldn’t make a sound in response, could only watch in horror as eyes, orange eyes, started to open up on Anduin’s skin. He unsheathed Shalamayne and red eyes followed the wielder’s hand as the sword was lifted and plunged into Wrathion’s chest. 

It was the wound from before, the one from Azeroth’s wound. There was a split second where the pain returned, like his soul was being split apart, like Fel fire ran through his veins and was burning every inch of his being. 

And then he was falling. 

Wrathion hit the ground below, the hallway, the room and the chambers gone. The darkness returned and he was suddenly alone again. He knelt there, gasping from the lingering pain and his body shook all over. 

All the confusion and anger had reached a point. The dragon doubled over himself, arms wrapping around his torso tightly in the only hug he could receive and his forehead touched the black floor as he started to cry. 

He was trapped here, he realised. Something was keeping him in this prison and he couldn’t escape. No matter how alone he had been before, there was no one who could reach him here. He felt like a small whelp again, trapped in his egg and left to die. 

Behind him, an orange eye watched carefully as the dragon slowly broke. 

—————————————————————————

They had recently secured the cave and Wrathion’s unconscious body was carefully and secretly moved into Highmountain. Right had just finished tucking the dragon’s body under some new linen and was sat by his makeshift bed. 

The cave was large enough to host all of Blacktalon, small tents being set up to give people privacy from the open space. They had set Wrathion’s up in the middle, easily accessible by Milycie who had traveled with them to keep an eye on his condition, but would be difficult to get to by any outsiders who wished the dragon harm. 

Left had just gone to get them some fresh water, and Right stayed where she was. Their relationship had felt… Strained, recently. Both of them putting the blame upon themselves for what had happened and neither wanting to talk about it. They didn’t really get time to themselves, in between trying to run the organisation and keeping the news of Wrathion’s condition away from any ears that may be listening.

She was gently running her fingers through his hair, trying not to focus too hard on his pale skin and shallow breathing. Never in her life had she imagined having children, and yet all the familial love Right held in her heart was directed at the young dragon in front of her. How strange that a human would feel this way for a dragon, a being that would live long after she was dead. 

So lost in her thoughts that she completely missed the tears until her hand brushed something wet on Wrathion’s face. Right came back to herself and saw that despite how still he was, that his skin was still pale and his breathing was still shallow, tears ran down his temples and into his hairline. 

This was the first reaction he had shown since he became unconscious and Right panicked. She stood up and leaned over him, cupping his cheeks in her palms and wiped away the tears. 

“Shh,” she tried to calm him, but didn’t know if he could hear her or not, “it’s okay. There’s nothing to cry about, it’s all okay. I’m here.” 

Left came back in that moment, and stood shocked by the entrance at what she was seeing. The orc rushed to the other side of the bed, where Right looked at her. They stared at each other, too much left unsaid but it was all unneeded in that moment. They knew what the other wanted to say, and Left reached out to hold her hand. 

An odd image the three must have made, all squeezed on to one bed, the human and the orc comforting a crying comatose dragon, whispering soft words with all the love mothers would show to their distressed children. 

That was how they fell asleep hours later; three bodies crammed onto a cot barely big enough for one and two hands entwined over a sluggish heartbeat.


	5. Chapter 5

Anduin closed the door to his chambers, and gently thumped his head against the solid wood. He resisted the urge to really headbutt it, maybe if he could give himself a head wound, he could just blame everything on that. He heard Aurellia carefully stepping around, and taking in the room in front of her.

“I mean…” She began, “At least Genn was right? I’d kill for a room like this.”

He sighed and turned around, to see her nosing through the documents on his desk. Probably not the best idea to let a Blacktalon agent read highly confidential Alliance reports, but at this point he had a lot more to worry about. Like how to get everything together in just a week so they could leave. 

Aurellia put down the papers and crossed the room to the large bed and sat down, surprised with how soft it was. She bounced slightly on the mattress to test its give and ran her hand along the soft silk-like covers. She had never felt comfort like this before; as an agent she has to always be on the move, could never stay in one place too long to have things like this. Even in her life before Blacktalon, Aurellia had never been able to afford anything of this quality.

“What’s the plan, then?” She asked Anduin, who looked like he would rather be fighting an entire battalion of demons alone. 

“Well,” he began, “I don’t think I can convince them we’re going on holiday or something. They’d never allow it, not with everything that’s going on.”

Truthfully, Anduin felt guilty. He had to leave Stormwind, leave his people in their time of healing and need to try to help Wrathion. He’d feel guilty for staying in Stormwind too, if he left the dragon unattended and didn’t do what he could for his condition. The only option he truly saw was to sneak away again, to leave a letter to Shaw and Genn to tell them he was okay and to not look for him. 

Light, how stupid that sounded. Should he just tell them he wanted to go somewhere with Au- Angela alone? At least then he could tell them he’d be in Highmountain. But then what if Shaw tried to push Anduin into taking agents with him as guards? 

Anduin shook his head from the cluster of conflicting thoughts and walked purposefully towards the armoire. He opened the doors and rummaged around the bottom to where he kept a small duffel bag and started to shove tunics and breeches in. The mage watched him from the bed.

“We need to go to Dragonblight before we go to Highmountain.” Anduin told her.

“Dragonblight? Why there?”

“The Dragon Queen resides there, at Wrymrest Temple. She must know something about this.” He strapped up the bag and shoved it back to the bottom of the armoire. Having it ready meant they could leave at a moments’ notice. 

He walked to the bed and sat beside her, slumping over and put his face in his hands. There was too much to think about, too many choices to make and once again everything was put onto his shoulders. A small hand gently rested on his shoulder and awkwardly patted him.

“I’m not great at comforting people. Please don’t cry.” She said and Anduin snorted in response.

“I’m not going to cry, there’s just… There’s a lot going on.”

Aurellia was silent for a long moment.

“I know. Thank you. For doing all this. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be King. To have so much on your plate already, and to take this on, too.”

“He was… Wrathion was my friend once. I have a lot I want to say to him when he wakes up. A lot to apologise for, too.”

“Apologise?” She huffed a laugh, “You? I can’t imagine you even hurting a fly, let alone a dragon.” 

He smiled weakly at her.

“When I was fifteen, before I met Wrathion, I used Mind Control on one of the SI:7 agents who tried to make me go home.” Aurellia was silent at the confession before she burst into laughter.

“Mind Control?!” She nearly shrieked with joy. “On one of your own agents?!”

“Yeah, I was uh… A bit impetuous.” He rubbed the back of his neck at the memory. She wiped a tear from her eye, her laughter dying back down to silence.

“What do you need to apologise for?” She asked, tentatively.

“I think… I think I underestimated him. Or overestimated, I’m not sure.” Anduin ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t see how other people saw him, I just saw Wrathion. A strange young dragon who was my friend. But other people just saw him as a black dragon; dangerous and untrustworthy. I should’ve seen that, how other people labeled him, but I didn’t. I should’ve defended him, but I didn’t. Maybe… Did he think he couldn’t trust me in Pandaria? Is that why he did what he did?” 

He added the last bit more quietly, more to himself than to Aurellia. 

“I don’t think so. I don’t know him very well personally, but I do know he places a lot on himself. Perhaps too much.” She stretched and flopped backwards on the bed. “But what do I know? You can just ask him yourself when he wakes up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed and and weakly repeated her words, “when he wakes up.”

————————————————————————

In the end, it only took Anduin three days before he decided everything was about inasmuch order as he could make it before he wrote a note and left it on his desk. It was three days filled with as much awkwardness as he could handle, which in hindsight was probably the reason he decided to leave when he did. 

The King’s bed was big enough for five people easily, but having a strange woman sleeping with him who he had to pretend he was in a very loving relationship in was… It was just awful. The news had clearly traveled quickly through the Keep and probably throughout the city. Whenever Anduin and Aurellia ventured out into the hallways, the attendants and guards would shamelessly watch them before turning to each other and speaking in quiet tones.

It was only on the second day of their visit that Anduin truly contemplated moving to a remote region of Pandaria and living the rest of his life out as a farmer. It was a benign comment he overheard from one of the attendants on the third day that tipped him over the edge. Anduin knew his people were just looking to the future, for him to secure the Wrynn bloodline, but he couldn’t be around it any longer. 

“Do you think they’ll get married?”

The innocent question echoed in his head as he barged into his chambers, where Aurellia was sitting at his desk and being nosy, reading through newer documents that appeared there. He practically slammed the door behind him and he threw his hands into the air.

“I’m done! We’re leaving. I can’t handle this anymore.” 

He took a few moments to write out a quick note addressed to Shaw, some cover about him wanting time alone with Angela, especially during this period of peace. He didn’t mention where they were going, just that it was somewhere remote and safe and to not look for him. The mage tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to finish, before teleporting them. 

The temperature change between Stormwind and Northrend was awful and Anduin could immediately feel himself starting to shiver against the cold winds. They had appeared at Wintergarde Keep, a small town protected by the worst of the winds by the surrounding mountains, but it was still awfully cold. 

The sun was riding low in the sky when they arrived, and Aurellia went to the Gryphon Master to get a ride to Wyrmrest Temple. Anduin wore a long cloak with a large hood that concealed his identity; he had decided it best that no one saw him, as word could get back to Shaw. 

The flight to the base of the Temple was even worse than standing in the cold. The winds at that height were biting, and he had to pull the cloak even tighter around himself to avoid it. He could practically feel frost forming on his hands and face and wondered how on earth anyone could live here for any stretch of time. 

They landed at the base and Anduin looked up to the top, where the answers they needed may be. A Wyrmrest Accord envoy came to greet them at the bottom, dressed in long robes and the typical Elven glamour. 

“Welcome to the Wyrmrest Temple. How may we help you?” The elf bowed his head at them, not even blinking an eye at the cloaked figure stood by the mage.

“We’ve come to request an audience with the Dragon Queen, Alexstrasza.” Aurellia spoke for them, both having agreed for him to stay silent and not reveal his identity unless absolutely necessary.

“I see. I’m afraid that’s not possible. She will not see anyone we do not know among our ranks.” 

“Please,” she said, “it’s urgent.”

“I’m sure it is. And I can assure you, we are aware of the situation in Silithus and are doing what we can for Azeroth’s wounds.”

“What? That’s not-”

“Now,” the envoy continued, “I must ask you to leave the Temple and return to where you came from.” 

“No, we won’t leave until we-”

“I must insist you leave immediately.”

It was strange, Anduin thought, how this dragon was trying to make them leave. It didn’t seem as if they were trying to hide anything, they just didn’t want any visitors. He started to feel desperate at the attempts to make them leave. This was their last true option to get any answers for how to help Wrathion’s wound. The envoy and Aurellia were arguing, voices being raised louder and louder before Anduin lowered his hood.

“Please!” He cut through their argument and both stared at him. The mage rolled her eyes at him and muttered something under her breath, as the dragon looked at him in shock.

“King Anduin?” He asked.

“Yes. Please, we must speak to the Dragon Queen.” 

The envoy regarded them both carefully for a moment before nodding in agreement.

“If one such as yourself has come personally, I can only imagine the urgency of the situation which has brought you here.” 

They were taken into the Temple, dragons and Elven forms staring at them alike. The two were led up some stairs hidden in a small alcove to a room that had an open wall that overlooked the white lands of Dragonblight. The magic here was ancient and unfamiliar and Anduin almost felt uneasy as he looked out to see the countless skeletons of dragons who had come here to die. It was too close to the reason why they were here. 

“I will go and tell Alexstrasza of your arrival, please wait here.” The envoy told them before disappearing. Aurellia immediately turned on him and folded her arms.

“What happened to staying hidden? Do I need to remind you that was your idea?”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, “but it seemed like we weren’t going to be given entry. At least now, we can talk to Alexstrasza and get the answers we need.”

“What answers might those be?” A new voice cut through their conversation and both turned to look at who it was. Alexstrasza was much taller than the both of them, standing easily a head higher than Anduin. She was fit, clearly in her prime, and he felt envious of the way the cold didn’t seem to bother her, despite how much skin was exposed.

“Queen Alexstrasza,” Anduin began and she raised a hand to cut him off.

“Please, no formalities are necessary here. You have clearly come a long way for my help. Tell me what I can do for you.”

“I am… Sure you’re well aware of the situation in Silithus and what happened there,” he started nervously, hope cloying in the back of his throat. She nodded in affirmation, “I was wondering if… You’d be so kind to tell us if anything like this has happened before. And… What effect it may have had on Neltharion at the time.”

“Neltharion?” Her voice turned dangerous and her eyes narrowed. “And why would you need such information?” 

“It- I- The current Earth-Warder, Wrathion, was injured when Sargeras’ sword broke through Azeroth’s crust. We need to know if there’s any way to help him.”

Alexstrasza softened then, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly as she relaxed. 

“Wrathion?” She asked. “What a shame…” 

“Is there anything we can do?” Anduin pleaded with her. The Dragon Queen stared at him for a long while, before she came to an unspoken decision.

“Perhaps you should do nothing and let this wound run its course,” she said finally, “Azeroth has long since outgrown a need for the Black Dragonflight. Time and time again they have proved to be untrustworthy, and they will betray us at any given moment.”

Both Anduin and Aurellia stared at her in shock at her answer. She seemed unmoving in her decision to let Wrathion die. His chest boiled with the sudden anger but he couldn’t manage to make a sound.

“You- Please!” The mage burst out. “Please! You’re our last hope for any information that could help him! He’s been unconscious since it happened and his heart barely beats-”

“Then perhaps it is best to let him pass, and let his suffering end. At this point, it is only a kindness. I have seen this happen to Neltharion during the Sundering, I know the pain he went through and my heart ached to know I could do nothing-”

“But you did do something! Because he lived!”

“Yes. But the time of the Aspects has passed with the destruction of Deathwing. The Black Dragonflight will never be revived to what it once was. We should let him die peacefully.”

“You’d just-” Aurellia’s voice cracked and she took a second to swallow against the lump in her throat, “You’d just let him die? Isn’t he family?”

“He is,” Alexstrasza replied, and she seemed truly regretful, “He is my family in all but blood. But long has it been since I have had to close my heart off to the irredeemable actions of the Black Dragonflight. All the efforts my envoys took to purify the flight were in vain. I hold no doubt he will turn out the same.”

“He is different.” she was begging now, but seemed to know the Queen would not change her mind. “Everything he’s done… It was all to protect Azeroth.”

“Yes,” the Queen responded, quieter now. She seemed deeply saddened, but Anduin nor Aurellia could find it in themselves to care, “A tale I have lived through before. Everything Neltharion did, he truly believed it was for Azeroth’s sake. The madness of the Old Gods blinded him to what he was really doing. You won’t see what has happened to Wrathion until it is too late.”

“Alexstrasza, _please_ ,” Anduin finally bargained with her, “He can’t die. I have too much to tell him, I can’t live knowing he never heard it.”

“I have much to tell him, too,” she replied, and turned her head away from them. Despite her size, the dragon seemed much smaller in that moment, “I have much to apologise for, not that I think he would ever forgive me. He is the creation of many experiments, actions we deemed acceptable in the face of total destruction. I would have liked to see him grow, I could have been a mother to him.”

“Then why?” He asked her, “Why this?”

“Many of my clutches were stolen by Deathwing and his followers. The whelps were tortured and twisted into madness. Though it pained me to take them down, it was what was best for them. This is much the same. A wound like this…” She shook her head, “It will only lead him further into the grasp of N’Zoth.”

“You won’t help us.” Anduin realised and his shoulders dropped at the weight. Their last option to help Wrathion… And it was useless.

“I am sorry,” Alexstrasza said and he tried not to focus on the sheen in her eyes from her sorrow, “I truly wish things could be different. But this is how it must be.”

—————————————————————————

The journey out of the Temple and back into the cold was taken in total silence. Anduin could practically feel Aurellia vibrating in anger beside him. When they got outside, she walked straight past the gryphons that were still waiting for them and continued along the snowy path. He had to rush to meet up with her furious pace.

“Aurellia.” He tried to call out to her, but she didn’t listen. Her arms were folded across her chest to pull her robes closer to her against the cold wind. “Aurellia!”

“How can she turn her back on him?!” She whirled around to face him, and despite the anger on her face he could see the tell tale shine of tear tracks on her face. “She said he was family, right?! You don’t just let family die!”

“Believe me, I’m angry too. But we can’t-”

“Angry?! I’m not just _angry_ , I’m furious!” It was then he could feel the crackle in the air that wasn’t present before, the sign of a mage about to explode from the arcane energy. 

“Why?” He asked and she looked surprised at his question, but he needed to know. Why was this strange mage, an agent of Blacktalon, investing herself so emotionally into this situation? The suddenness nearly shocked her out of her anger.

“ _Why_?”

“Yes. Why is this affecting you so much?”

“What- I-” Aurellia’s hands fell from their position and she looked down to her palms. They were much too scarred for a simple caster, holding the healed scabs of someone who used to wield weapons. “You don’t just let family die.” She repeated in a softer voice. 

“Why are you even here, Aurellia?” He asked, suddenly exhausted and tired down to his bones. She looked back up at him, confused. “Why do you care so much for what happens to Wrathion?”

“He gave me… A new life. He gave me a second chance to right the wrongs of the past. I have somewhere I belong now, and if… If he dies, where does that leave me? Where does that leave any of us? Outcasts again? Criminals? With nowhere to go, and nowhere to belong? Is that selfish of me? Probably. I had somewhere I belonged before, I had a _family_ before, and I wasn’t there when they needed me. I can’t let that happen again.”

“We won’t let it happen,” Anduin put a hand on her shoulder. She seemed more stable now, but he could still feel the crackle in the air, the anger under her skin. “We’ll find a way to help him.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and ran a hand through her hair, “I know I’m not the only one going through this. You’re holding a lot to your chest, and that’s no one's business but between you and him. You… You’ve said before you have something to tell him.”

“Yes… There’s a lot that was left unsaid since we last saw each other. I’m angry at him for things he’s done, but… I think I understand more, now. About why.” Aurellia nodded at him and placed a hand over his that was still on her shoulder.

“Please don’t leave it until too late. Even-” She closed her eyes even at the mention, “Even if he doesn’t wake up, you must tell him. I’d give anything to tell my wife how much I miss her. How much I love her.”

Anduin looked at her, at the unshed tears that shined in her eyes. He understood her in that moment. That she knew how he felt about Wrathion, that she had lived through this before. That her story had ended much worse than his own.

“To Highmountain?” He managed to choke out.

“To Highmountain.” She echoed.

————————————————————————————————

Thunder Totem was in the mountains, much like Wintergarde Keep, but it wasn’t as cold. Windy for sure, from the height of the city, but it wasn’t biting like that of Dragonblight. Anduin kept his hood up and the Highmountain Tauren didn’t even blink an eye in their direction, well used to passing travelers by now.

They took the path that led East out of Thunder Totem, and then South as they crossed a bridge and passed a watch tower. The entrance to the cave was intimidating, a narrow cave mouth surrounded by unnatural rocks that protruded from the foundation of the cave, presumably from the attack led by the Drogbar. 

As they entered the cave, the two came face to face with chaos. Left stood at the front of a large group of agents who blocked further access to the cave. She held her signature crossbow up and looked down the sights with narrowed eyes at the target; a large Highmountain Tauren who stood across from them.

“-the wounded.” The Tauren had just finished saying. Left betrayed nothing in her gaze.

“There are no wounded here. We are just passing through and needed shelter for the night.”

The Tauren looked disbelievingly at them, and the multiple weapons aimed at him. He looked at them with a raised eyebrow, as if asking ‘really?’. He didn’t answer for a long while and Anduin could feel the tension in the air.

“My name,” the Tauren said, “is Ebonhorn.”

Left lowered her crossbow, it seemed she recognised the name, but the other agents showed no such acknowledgment. The orc motioned for the other agents to stand down and they did so, but they didn’t leave their position, still staring warily at the newcomer.

“Why have you come here?” Left asked. Her crossbow was aimed at the floor, and it seemed she knew who the Tauren was, but she held the weapon firmly between her hands, ready to take aim at any given moment.

“One of my kin is here, a direct descendant of Neltharion the Earth-Warder himself. I can feel his presence and it called out to me. His pain is my own, I came to see if I could help ease it.”

The orc stared at him for a long while, her jaw clenching against the decision before she jerked her head for the group to follow. Anduin lowered his hood, but Ebonhorn seemed to take no notice of his appearance. Was this Tauren a black dragon? Is that what he meant by kin?

They were led down a path which overlooked a large platform to the right which was set up with tents. They were all indistinguishable from each other, all the same size and same dark colour, which Anduin guessed was just extra measures to keep Wrathion safe. Further up in the cave was an even larger open space which he could see were more agents sparring with each other. 

The agents that were with Left dispersed as they reached the tents, and Aurellia gently touched Anduin’s arm before she also disappeared off, leaving him with just Ebonhorn and Left who led them to one of the tents near the center. He saw Right stood guard outside of the entrance, and she frowned when she saw the Tauren.

“Ebonhorn.” Was all Left needed to say to Right who nodded stiffly in reply. The two stared at each other, another silent conversation passing between them. The orc surreptitiously brushed a hand along the humans’, a subtle show of affection that Anduin nearly missed. 

Right moved away from the tent entrance and Left moved the covering to the side to reveal the small cot that held Wrathion, who looked no better since the last time Anduin had seen him. The Nightborne Priest, Milycie, was there with her hands hovering over the dragon's body, much like the first time he had seen her.

Ebonhorn had to crouch down and in on himself as he entered the small tent, a sad frown crossing his face. He reached out a large hand to place on Wrathion’s own, absolutely dwarfing the younger dragon. The Tauren’s eyes shut in concentration and Anduin couldn’t help but hold his breath. He didn’t know if Ebonhorn would be able to help, wasn’t completely sure what he was doing now, but he was grasping at anything that could help.

“He’s dreaming.” The Tauren said, finally. “Alone in a vast darkness, where no one can reach him. And there is another presence with him… One that is unfamiliar to me. But it feels old, more ancient than anything I have felt, even on these lands.”

“Is he okay?” Anduin asked, and Ebonhorn tilted his head to regard him.

“No. His life force is fading. Whatever this presence in the darkness is, it’s consuming him.”

The blond looked at Wrathion's sleeping form. His heart ached at the knowledge the dragon was aware enough to be dreaming, but was ultimately trapped in his own mind. Anduin hoped he hadn’t given up, that he was still fighting to wake up, no matter what was happening. He dearly hoped the dragon knew he wasn’t alone, that there were people waiting for him to wake up, people that needed him. 

He remembered what Aurellia had told him, to not leave it too late to tell Wrathion what he needed to say, even if he wasn’t awake.

_“I’d give anything to tell my wife how much I miss her. How much I love her.”_

Anduin looked at Wrathion’s slack face and clenched his hands to stop himself from reaching out.

_Please_ , he thought, _please don’t give up._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end of this story. I'd like to say a massive thank you to everyone who read this far. Thank you for all the kudos and comments, they were so supportive. 
> 
> There is so much yet left to happen, and ideas are slowly coming together to form a coherent story, so if you enjoyed this, please keep an eye out for the next installment of the series! 
> 
> Again. Thank you so much to everyone. I deeply hope you've enjoyed this :)

There were eyes in the darkness. Countless eyes that stared at him. Their presence bore down on his mind, tormented him with endless visions of the future N’Zoth held for Azeroth. A future in which Anduin was used as a pawn, where resistance was met with swift and harsh punishment. 

He could hear Azeroth’s pain. Hear her cries, though she felt so far from him. He had no energy left. Couldn’t even move a finger if he had wanted to. But he didn’t want to.

He lay on his side in the suffocating darkness as the eyes watched him. He could see them out of the corner of his eye, bearing down on his prone body, waiting for the second he gave in. 

He couldn’t give in. He couldn’t give up. But it was so hard, and he was so tired. He had spent days (months? Years? How long had he been here?) fighting against this. He wasn’t even sure what he was fighting against anymore.

His natural magic had started to fail him. From a hand that lay limply near his face, he could see his scales creep up from underneath his sleeve and onto the palm of his hand. 

What was the use of resisting? No one could reach him here, no one could help him. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he fought for, in the end it all led to the same outcome. 

His eyelids drooped with the exhaustion. He wanted to sleep more than anything, but he knew that would be the end. Would it be so bad to give in? Would that be selfish of him? Would anyone hold it against him if he just went to sleep?

He took a long blink and his eyes closed for longer than he had intended. It was with great effort that he opened them again. The eyes had come closer. They were much larger than before, each red-tinged pupil focused solely on him. 

He didn’t remember much from… Before. Couldn’t remember why he was here, could barely remember his own name. He remembered Anduin, though. He remembered the Tavern in the Mists, the time they spent together. He grasped onto those memories with both hands, refused to let it slip through his mind like everything else. 

_Let go._

There was that voice again. Deep, gentle and full of promise. It tempted him to go to sleep, to just close his eyes and be washed away by the tide. 

And oh, how he was tempted.

He blinked again. The eyes moved closer. Had his eyelids always felt this heavy? Had his body always been held down by weights?

_Go to sleep. You’re safe now._

Was he? Was he truly safe? Was it really okay to rest? 

No. Remember the tavern. Remember… Remember who? His body jerked slightly as he realised the name had slipped his mind. There was someone he needed to remember, to hold on to. Who was it? It was important, he had to remember, he had to-

_It’s okay. You can rest now._

What was he just thinking about? There was something… Something important he had just forgotten. Why was he so tired? There was some part of him that screamed to not sleep, to not close his eyes. But why? He was tired, he should sleep. 

His eyes slid shut easily, as he finally embraced the darkness. The last thing he saw was the countless unnatural orange eyes that watched him. He breathed deeply, relief setting into his very bones as he finally relaxed. 

…

…

…

_Wake up, Wrathion._

The voice was female, gentle and light in his head. Was she talking to him? Was that his name? No… No, she must be talking to someone else. He didn’t want to wake up, anyway. He was still so tired.

_Don’t sleep, child. You must not give in._

Her voice was so calming, he hoped she talked more, he liked the sound of it. It was… Familiar, somehow. Which was strange because he doesn’t remember her ever talking to him before. 

_Wake up. Open your eyes. Get up. Get up._

He knew her. Where did he know that voice from? He remembered… He was in a small place. Somewhere enclosed and he could hear her gentle tones. She was warm. 

_Do not give in. You must get up._ Get up!

The voice was suddenly much closer, as if someone had just shouted in his ear and he jerked awake. His eyes snapped open. The eyes watching him were gone. The darkness around him was gone and his body didn’t feel weighed down anymore. 

He sat up and looked around, disoriented. He was outside somewhere, the sun shined bright on the patch of grass he was on and there was a forest down the hill from where he was. 

Wrathion, the voice had said. Yes, that sounded right. That was his name, that’s what he had named himself. It was after… He placed a hand over his face, there was too much slipping through his thoughts, his mind felt like sludge. 

He basked in the light, enjoyed the way it warmed up his skin and it was only then he realised how cold he was. A gentle breeze brushed his skin, and rustled the grass near him. Where was he? Where was this place? 

“Wrathion.” a gentle female voice said from behind him. It was the voice from before, the one that told him to get up and he whirled around to face it. In front of him stood a tall elven figure, taller than him with dark skin like his own. She had two small horns, and red eyes also much like his own. Her skin was ethereal, glowing with how the sunlight kissed her.

He knew her. Where did he know her from? 

She stepped closer to him, close enough he could feel her warmth and she stared down at him with a gentle smile adorning her face. She looked sad somehow, a crease between her eyebrows but he didn’t know why she would be sad. 

She reached out a hand and gently brushed his cheek, before she stepped even closer and brought him into a hug. His ear was pressed against her chest and he could hear her heartbeat. An arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other cradled his head as she hooked her chin carefully over his horns. 

“Oh, my son. I’m so sorry.” 

Oh. _Oh._

It clicked then. Her warm presence, how her voice was so familiar and where he knew her from. This was- She was his-

Wrathion slowly lifted his arms to wrap around her. This didn’t feel real. It _couldn’t_ be real, but he could so clearly feel Nyxondra’s solid body, her familiar warmth that soaked into his clothes. He held her tighter, he never wanted to let go. 

This was everything he had been starved of in his life. No family, no gentle touches, no one that would unconditionally love him. A dragon wasn’t meant to be alone, they were meant to live among their own flights, their own family. 

In her arms, he felt like a whelp again. Scared and alone in a dark basement, left to die and forgotten by the world. He had to clench his jaw and blink hard against the tears that wanted to fall. She ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Wrathion finally said and the tears finally fell uncontrollably, “I’m so sorry.”

“My son, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do. For everything I’ve done. I’ve made so many mistakes. Everything I’ve tried to do has failed.” 

Nyxondra pulled away from the embrace, though he was reluctant to let go. She cupped his face and gently wiped the tears away with her thumbs. He felt so small in her presence. 

“I’m so proud of you, little one. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’ve failed at everything. I’m just an abomination who-” She immediately cut him off. 

“All of my children were stolen from me. None of them survived the experiments they were put through. But _you,_ ” she tilted his head up to look at her directly, “you are the blessing the Titans gave me. No matter how you were created. You are _mine_. You are _my_ son.”

They sat on the grass together, bodies close and trying to make up for all the lost time. They watched the sun slowly get lower and lower and Wrathion knew their time together was coming to an end. 

“What now?” He finally asked.

“You must go back.” Nyxondra held his hand tightly. 

“Why?”

“Your job as the Earth-Warder is not yet done. Azeroth is in pain, N’Zoth has returned, and Sylvanas lies in the shadows.” 

The sun was nearly at the horizon now.

“How?” He said, tried to swallow back the emotions again, “How can I do this alone?”

“My son, you’re not alone.” She looked at him, with a sad smile on her face. “Can’t you feel it? You’re not alone here. You never have been.” 

He didn’t understand what she was talking about. Feel what? There was nothing here to feel, except for her.

The sun was lowering too quickly. Darkness descended upon them, the long shadow creeping up the grass and towards them. Nyxondra turned to him and pulled him into her arms again, kissing his forehead gently.

“I’m always with you,” her voice was getting faint, echoing in his head as her hold on him disappeared, “you’ll never be alone.”

The shadows engulfed them, and he was suddenly alone again in the darkness. 

A fire started up to the side of him, and as he turned to look more fires started. He looked around, and saw there were bodies lying on the sand he stood on, their blood soaking it and being washed away by the sea. A battle had clearly happened here. 

“Burn it.” Wrathion heard from behind him and turned to look. It was… Sylvanas? She seemed to be talking to her dog, Nathanos, who had only just snapped his head up to look at her. “Burn it!” She shouted again.

Catapults were lit up all along the shore, and he watched them hurl flaming balls into the ocean. The first hit something solid, and he saw the flames creep up into something standing in the water. More flames crept up the tree and he realised with horror he could hear the screams coming from inside the structure.

Teldrassil was on fire. 

The scene changed. He stood in the throne room of Lordaeron and watched Sylvanas face Anduin, who had changed significantly since they had last seen each other. He was holding Shalamayne and Wrathion felt sick. Sylvanas was too close to the blond for his liking, but he couldn’t make himself move. The Banshee Queen leant in close, with a smug expression.

“You’ve won…” She began, before her face changed to pure rage. “ _Nothing._ ”

As she escaped through the window in a shadowy form, the throne room was gassed with the Blight. He saw Jaina throw up a shield and teleport them out. Anduin was safe.

The Undercity was destroyed.

The scene changed. He was in Durotar, in front of Orgrimmar and watched as Saurfang and Sylvanas traded blows. Saurfang was wielding Shalamayne. Anduin was there. The Alliance was there, stood alongside an army of the Horde. What was happening? 

The orc spun and split Shalamayne, the second blade coming to injure Sylvanas who recoiled. 

“The Horde is _nothing_!” She spat, and the Forsaken by her side stared at her. The Banshee Queen snarled as she realised what had been said and stepped forward and shouted, “You. Are all. _NOTHING_!” 

Saurfang was dead. Sylvanas was gone.

What were these visions? Why was he being shown this? What did it mean? 

The scene changed and he was in Northrend. The sky was shattered open, a tower peeking out from the darkness above the Icecrown Citadel. What was this? 

_Change it_ , a voice said. He recognised her immediately this time. She was with him. _You must change it all._

Wrathion woke up slowly. The first thing he felt was how much his body ached, how much his chest throbbed from the open wound there. His eyelids felt heavy, so he concentrated on making sure he could move his fingers and toes. 

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a dark tent cover that sheltered him. Where was he? His entire body felt heavy and it took an immense amount of effort to turn his head to the side. There wasn’t much there, just a table with a basin full of water and a damp cloth hanging over the edge. 

There were voices coming from outside of the tent, but to his ears it sounded as if he were listening to them from underwater. He slowly sat up and bit his tongue to stop the groan of pain escaping. He was in some sort of small cot and threw his legs over the side and rubbed at the bandages on his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt but had loose breeches on. There was a soft blanket covering the floor, but from the spots it didn’t cover, there was a hard rock floor. 

His throat was so dry, and it took a few tries for Wrathion to manage to stand by himself. He checked the water in the basin and genuinely considered just drinking from it, but decided against it after a few long moments. He wasn’t quite at the point of lowering his pride to chug dirty water from a basin. He felt safe here, his instincts weren’t screaming danger, so assumed Left and Right had brought him somewhere. 

With a hand over the wound on his chest, he cautiously moved the entrance cover to the side and peeked out. It was warm here, and clearly underground somewhere. There were more tents surrounding his own and Wrathion could hear the voices more clearly. None of them Left or Right, and he wondered where they were. 

The dragon saw no one around, so moved out from where he had woken and tried to weave himself through the other dark tents. As Wrathion turned a corner, he smacked into someone who was moving much faster than he was. From the force of the other person, he fell backwards onto the ground in a tangle of limbs with someone else who barely caught themselves above him before their full weight hit his chest. Still, the dragon couldn’t help the grunt of pain and closed his eyes against the white that flashed across his vision. 

Wrathion clenched his jaw, and slowly opened his eyes as the pain faded. He looked above himself to see a familiar face that stared back at him in wonder, blond hair framing a strong jaw he knew all too well. 

Wrathion and Anduin stared at each other with wide eyes. It had been many years since Anduin had seen the dragon, and even more for Wrathion due to his captivity on Draenor. All the words they had practiced to themselves to say to each other were caught in their throats. 

“You’re awake.” Anduin finally said, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Neither of them had moved a muscle, with the human still balanced carefully over Wrathion. 

“Am I?” He breathed. After everything he had seen, was there truly any way to know if he was awake? Especially being this close to Anduin, who hadn’t shown any sign of anger, or a single raised word, he was doubting he wasn’t dreaming.

But it felt real. The cold rocks digging into his back, the throb from the wound on his chest. The warmth from the solid body still leaning on him was grounding and he tried to not focus too much on how their legs were tangled, how much of their bodies were pressed up against each other. 

Anduin seemed to finally realise how they were just lying on the floor, but seemed reluctant to pull away to stand up. He helped Wrathion up off the ground, and the silence between them was thick. It wasn’t tense, but filled with unspoken words that neither of them knew how to even begin to say. 

Even stood up, the blond didn’t let go of the hand he used to help the dragon up. The two must have looked absolutely ridiculous to anyone else had they been watching; stood silently, neither of them daring to look away in case they were dreaming, lost in their own world with each other. 

“How,” Anduin cleared his throat and suddenly pulled away, leaving Wrathion feeling cold, “How are you feeling?”

_Tired_ , he wanted to say, _I’m so tired. My chest hurts, my body hurts, I’m so confused as to what I must do. Why me? Why must I be the one to do all this?_

He wanted to say all of this and more, wanted to tell Anduin about everything he’d seen, try to make sense of it all. 

“I’m thirsty,” he blurted out instead, the first thing he could think of to say. It wasn’t a lie, he had truly debated drinking the basin water, after all. 

“Oh,” the blond simply replied, before his eyes widened in realisation, “Oh!” He seemed to remember where they were, and came back to himself. “Yes. Right. I can just- I’ll go get some fresh water for you.” 

Wrathion blinked as Anduin turned on his heel and walked away quickly. He stared after the leaving figure until he was out of his line of sight. What… What had just happened? The entire exchange was not at all how he had expected it to be. Since breaking Garrosh out of his incarceration, the dragon had imagined their next meeting thousands of times, in a thousand different scenarios. All of them had included some form of him being shouted at, a lot of anger and perhaps a punch or two being thrown. 

None of that had happened. He walked back to the tent he had woken up in, over thinking the whole situation. Why was Anduin not angry at him? The way he looked at Wrathion was like… No, there was no way. He stopped his thoughts there, interrupted by the cover of the tent being moved to the side. 

Left stood in the entrance, a blank expression on her face and stared at him. She dropped the cover, despite still standing outside of the tent and he blinked at her behaviour. She ripped the cover open again, as if expecting him to be some sort of figment of her imagination, but as she saw Wrathion still stood there, her expression changed to one of shock. 

The orc slowly stepped inside, not daring to take her eyes off him for even a second. He frowned slightly. Why was everyone acting so strange? Left moved then, faster than his eyes could follow and he was suddenly being crushed against her chest as she hugged him. The pain in his chest throbbed with the action, but he didn’t struggle against her. 

“Were you really worried about your pay rise that much?” Wrathion’s voice came out muffled, from where his face was pressed against her skin. It was simple deflection, both of them very similar in how they found it hard to talk about what they were feeling. She squeezed him slightly tighter before she let go and stepped back to give him room.

“Of course I was,” Left said, and he pretended not to notice how she swiped at her eyes quickly, “who else is going to hire me?”

He sat down on the side of the small cot, feeling completely worn out despite how he hadn’t moved around nearly enough to exhaust himself. He rubbed a hand again over the bandages over his chest and tried not to think too hard about how his fingers dipped in a good amount over the wound. 

Anduin entered as Left opened her mouth to say more, holding a pitcher of water in his hands and handed it to Wrathion. Right was hot on his heels, almost bouncing on her feet from the knowledge he was finally awake. He took a grateful drink from the pitcher, and eyed the three that hovered over him. The silence was heavy, three pairs of eyes bore into Wrathion as he drank and it set his teeth on edge.

“I came as quickly as I-” someone else entered the tent, the space quickly getting too full. It was a Nightborne, easily much taller than any of them and she stared at him, not quite believing he was awake. “Oh! You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

She gently pushed passed the other three to get to him and sat on the cot beside him, checking his temperature and pulse. Where she touched him, his skin tingled with the residue of the Light she was using. 

“I’m fine?” It came out more as a question than a statement, but the Nightborne just hummed in reply. Wrathion just wanted to know why everyone was acting so weird around him, Anduin especially. 

“If you could just wait outside while I do some quick checks. It will only take a moment,” she addressed the other three who were reluctant to leave but did so with clenched jaws and similar creases between their eyebrows.

The Nightborne waited until they had left before she turned back to Wrathion with a gentle smile on her face. She had the sort of presence that would make anyone immediately relax. 

“My name is Milycie. I’ve been doing what I can for you while you slept.” He stared at her for a moment, tried to determine if he knew her or not.

“You’re… Not in my employ, are you?”

“No,” she laughed, “I was approached by your bodyguards shortly after you were wounded. I haven’t been able to do a lot, most days I just make sure your pain is bearable.” 

“Well, thank you.” Wrathion told her. “Is, uh… Why is everyone acting so…” He made a vague gesture to the entrance. “Like that?”

“Oh,” her expression turned pensive, “You- Well. You have been asleep for a few months now. If you were anything but what you are, you would be dead now.” She spoke in a quieter voice then. “We truly believed you wouldn’t wake up. Your heartbeat was so weak and your magic was being drained too quickly to recover.”

Oh. That explained pretty much everything. Why Anduin didn’t immediately yell, why Left of all people hugged him and why Right looked about ready to vibrate out of her mortal form just to see him awake. Months? It had been months since Argus? Wrathion ran a hand down his face. No wonder he felt just so… Exhausted. 

“How are you really feeling?” Milycie asked him. 

“Tired. Just… Tired.” He answered and she nodded in understanding.

“Of course. Your mana is drained and your body is trying to heal. Rest is all you should be doing right now.” 

He wanted to tell her that there wasn’t any time to rest, that there was too much put onto his shoulders for him to be able to rest. Besides, he could do so once N’Zoth was gone, once Sylvanas was dealt with. He didn’t have the time right now, but he kept his mouth shut as the elf stood up. 

“I’ll tell them to let you sleep for now. Do you want me to tell them anything else for you?” 

“Oh, uhm. No. Thank you.” Milycie bowed her head to him and turned to leave. Just as she was about to pull back the fabric cover, Wrathion was shaken out of his reverie. “Can you… Can you send Anduin in? I just need to talk to him quickly.” 

“Of course,” she left and he waited the few tense moments before the cover was pulled back again and Anduin walked back in. The inability to say what he wanted was back as soon as he saw the blond again. It seemed the two were destined to just stare dumbly at each other, with words trapped in their chests.

“Will you- Can you sit down?” Wrathion vaguely motioned to the space Milycie had vacated and Anduin sat down. Both of them studiously avoided eye contact, instead staring at anything else in the bare tent. His heart was racing painfully and he had to resist the urge to rub at his chest again. Where could he even begin with this? 

“How are-”

“Look, I’m-”

They spoke at the same time, and awkwardly looked at each other. How Wrathion longed for Pandaria. Their relaxed silences, how easy words came to him. 

“Sorry,” Anduin said, “what were you saying?”

“I’m just-” Wrathion clenched his jaw hard, “I-… I’m so s-”

“Don’t,” the human cut him off and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut, “If you’re about to apologise, just stop.” 

He hunched his shoulders, ducked his head and tried to make himself smaller. This is where the anger would come, he thought, where Anduin’s strange calm facade would be removed and their fragile peace shattered.

“By the _Light_ , Wrathion,” Anduin said, and turned back to him, “I thought you were _dead_. I thought I’d never get to tell you-” he cut himself off. Instead, he reached out and took Wrathion’s hand, gently linking their fingers together and looked down at the contrast between their skin. “I am angry, yes. But not for everything you think. You can’t control anyone’s actions but your own. I’m hurt and pissed off about what you did in Pandaria, but… I think I understand why you did it. That’s all I’m angry about, though. Not for anything else. Understand?”

“But your father-”

“That’s not your fault. That’s _not_ your fault. Gul’dan killed my father, not you.”

There was an invisible weight that had been crushing Wrathion’s chest since he woke up, and it was lifted with those words. He felt like he could breathe easier. The dragon relaxed and leant into Anduin’s arm, tilting his head to rest it on the human’s shoulder. 

The silence between them felt easier now. Not everything was okay and there was still much to talk about. But here, in this moment, the two could just bask once again in each other’s presence, their proximity. 

“Will you stay?” Wrathion asked quietly, his eyes fixed on their joined hands and mind occupied with the tingle of the Light on his skin.

“Of course.” Anduin replied and pressed his cheek to the top of the dragon’s head. 

There was so much yet to do. Wrathion still had an open wound in his chest, Azeroth was still in pain, N’Zoth was gaining power and Sylvanas was scheming. So many pressing matters that had to be dealt with, things that no one knew but him, and he would have to tell people, Anduin, to prepare them for what was to come. 

But there, in a small tent and cot barely big enough for himself, he would sleep with his priest by his side. The outside world could wait for them.

For the first time in years, Wrathion’s dreams came easy. There was no darkness, no screams or orange eyes that haunted him. Just him and a young Prince together alone in a secluded tavern. 

_“I see driftwood for a fire, to keep out the chill and provide illumination for… Jihui!”_

_“You’re on.”_


End file.
